LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF 

life: on the, 
pacific coast 



S.D.WOODS 





Class Pgfc/ 

Book g ir 2 y 



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GoijyrightN°_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




^4^A^«aoSr 




LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF 



LIFE ON THE 
PACIFIC COAST 



By 
S. D. WOODS 




FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY 

NEW YORK. AND LONDON 

I910 



.f 






Copyright, 1910, by 
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY 



[Printed in the United States of America] 



Published, December, 19 10 



f CI.A27S245 



PUBLISHERS* NOTE 

The Hon. Samuel D. Woods, the author of this 
volume, is one of the first citizens of California. He 
rose in life through his own resolute efforts; took up 
the practise of law ; was for a long period a member 
of the Congress of the United States; and has been 
an actor in all the crowded and picturesque events 
of the Far West since the Civil War. 

Mr. Woods has earned the right to be heard. So 
now, at the request of his many friends, he is printing 
the varied and entertaining reminiscences of his long 
and honorable career. 



DEDICATED 

TO 

EDWIN MARKHAM 

My beloved pufil of long ago— he and I can never forget the little 

schoolhouse in the sunny Suisun hills, where we 

together found our lives. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Voyage to San Francisco Around Cape 
Horn in 1849 ..... i 

II. The Strenuous Life of Early Days in 

Stockton . . . . . . 8 

III. School Days in Los Angeles in 1855 23 

IV. San Francisco from 1849 to the Civil 
War 39 

V. The Pastimes, Occupations and Pleas- 
ures of the Early Rural Communities 
of California . ... . -54 

VI. Types of Pioneers Before the Age of 

Gold ....... 66 

VII. Sights and Sounds in the Great City 86 

VIII. Some Old Newspapers and Their Great 

Editors . . . . . • 113 

IX. A Group of Great Lawyers . .136 

X. The Pulpit and Pulpit Orators . 166 

XI. The Old California Theater and Its 

Immortals ...... 190 

XII. Some Old Bankers, Merchants and 

Financiers . . . . . . 216 

XIII. A Few Immortal Names of a Great 

Profession ...... 236 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PA6B 

XIV. A Horseback Ride from San Francisco 

TO Seattle ..... 246 

XV. From Village to Metropolis . . 261 

XVI. The Discovery and Evolution of a Poet 294 

XVII. Into the Desert .... 309 

XVIII. Death Valley, Its Mysteries and Its 

Secrets ...... 3^9 

XIX. A Summer Jaunt in the High Sierras 347 

XX. Unique Characters of the Desert — 

Man and Animal .... 369 

XXI. Some Eccentric Lives . . . 385 

XXII. Three Heroes — An Indian, A White 

Man and A Negro .... 404 

XXIII. Incidents of Frontier Life . . 420 

XXIV. Two Great Sheriffs . . . -435 
XXV. A Transplanted Railroad and the Man 

Who Transplanted It , . • 455 



Life on the Pacific Coast 



Chapter I 

VOYAGE TO SAN FRANCISCO AROUND 
CAPE HORN IN 1849 



M 



Y father was a Presbyterian clergyman, of Puri- 
tan strain. DeHcate health drove him, a 
young man, from the rigors of Massachusetts to 
the climate of Florida and thence to Alabama. 

In his wanderings among the healing warmths of 
the south, in York District, South Carolina, he met 
the gentle woman who became my mother, and was 
his helpmate in his work on the Pacific. 

In the early summer of 1849, the Board of Do- 
mestic Missions of the Presbyterian Church, desiring 
to establish stations of that denomination upon the 
shores of the Pacific, represented by the then almost 
unknown land of California, sent three ministers to 
California — Albert Williams to San Francisco; Syl- 
vester Woodbridge to Benicia (shortly thereafter capi- 
tal of the State, now a sleepy-hollow village reposing 
upon the slopes of the hills which lie northward of 
Carquinez Straits) and my father, James Woods, to 
the city of Stockton, then an important distributing 
point for the southern mines. 

I 



2 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Our family consisted of my father, my mother and 
four children. 

The principal tide of travel at this time from the 
Atlantic to the Pacific Coast was by mule trail across 
the Isthmus of Panama. The inconveniences of trans- 
portation; the terrible threat of the climate and the 
inability to secure any comforts made this trip from 
the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific Coast, for such a 
family, practically impossible. 

Well we remember looking from the high windows 
of some now unknown hotel, down in that portion of 
the city about Wall Street, near Bowling Green, when 
we first saw the City of New York. We were but 
three years of age, and yet to this day we recall the' 
impression made by the clustered buildings which 
stretched between the East and the Hudson Rivers. 

Lying at anchor in the East River lay a little Dutch- 
built bark, destined for San Francisco. The name, 
we remember to this day, was Alice Tarleton. She 
was a rude vessel, with no lines of beauty, but many of 
strength. Her timbers were after the manner of the 
Dutch, in the manufacture of their furniture, mortised 
together. This fact, doubtless, makes it possible for us 
in 1909 to recite the story of that voyage, for her ex- 
periences in the Atlantic and at Cape Horn were al- 
most a tragedy of the seas, for none but a strongly 
constructed sea-craft could have weathered the tre- 
mendous storms which smote her from time to time 
on that eventful voyage. 

From New York to San Francisco required eight 
months of tedious crawling across the seas, when not 
in combat with merciless storms. Memory does not 



VOYAGE TO SAN FRANCISCO 3 

recall much of the trip until we reached the City of 
Rio Janeiro, but the vision there disclosed to our 
youthful eyes was so exquisite, that a permanent im- 
pression was made, and we are able perfectly, at the 
end of these long years, altho many exciting in- 
stances have intervened, to accurately describe the city 
and its environments, together with many scenes which 
occurred there during our stay, as well as the storm 
which drove us for terrible days and more terrible 
nights, during two weeks, almost to the shores of 
Africa. 

Our sea trail was almost identical with that of the 
splendid fleet, which, led by "Fighting Bob," made the 
trip from Hampton Roads to San Francisco, and, un- 
der the leadership of other gallant naval officers, made 
safely the circuit of the globe. If this great white fleet, 
pride of the nation, the glory of navy building, had 
encountered the terrible storm which our little bark 
did at Cape Horn, doubtless the history of its voyage 
would have been different, and the ribs of some of 
the great battle-ships would be lying upon the shores 
of the southern seas, and many a gallant seaman 
would have "sunk to sleep with monstrous shapes 
that haunt the deep." 

As we attempted to round the Horn, we encountered 
a storm which lasted for two weeks, driving us day 
and night almost continuously submerged under roar- 
ing seas, until our little bark settled into calm, and we 
found ourselves within eight hundred miles of the 
Cape of Good Hope. Our cargo had shifted and we* 
were compelled to return to Rio Janeiro to readjust 
it. This readjustment required the taking out and 



4 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

replacing of the entire cargo, which took six weeks. 
It was during these weeks that the beauty of the 
wonderful bay, the splendor of the marvelous city, 
the glory of the towering mountains, were made per- 
manent in our youthful mind; not only these, but 
the human features peculiar to that southern capital. 
We can to this day recall the deep blue waters which 
have no duplicate in all the world; the beautiful city 
throned at the base and along the slopes of a jutting 
branch of the Andes; the perfect southern skies and 
sea. Blue bay, bluer sky, wondrous hill slopes and 
splendid city are still the parts of a living vision, after 
fifty years. 

We remember many human things, as tho it 
were but yesterday, among which were seventy thou- 
sand native troops, half clothed, who were reviewed 
in the streets of the city by the Emperor. We recall 
the occasion; the appearance and the lack of proper 
garbing of the troops, but can not quite recall the 
reason of the review. 

Our deep respect for the Catholic Church had its 
birth in a visit to one of the great cathedrals, where 
roof and walls and altar were by noble art made 
spiritually suggestive to the heart and imagination of 
the simple worshipers. No pews invited the wor- 
shiper, but princess and beggar knelt side by side 
under the swelling dome and worshiped at a com- 
mon altar without distinction of person or purpose. 
This democracy of religion imprest itself upon our 
youthful mind, never to be lost. 

On the slopes of the mountain near the city we 
wandered at will by the courtesy of their keepers 



VOYAGE TO SAN FRANCISCO 5 

amid the foliage of the imperial gardens. The bloom 
and fragrance of tropical foliage, semi-tropical tree 
and shrub, and the tree life of the temperate zone 
intermingled, made these gardens a dream of beauty. 

In the presence of all this beauty there occurred, on 
our ship's decks, one of the minor tragedies of the 
world — a tragedy minor because it did not affect the 
world generally, but to the poor victim, it was the 
tragedy of the universe. A young man, of brilliant 
attainments and of an honored family in New York, 
had been sent on the trip for the purpose of winning 
him from a habit which has enslaved hosts of 
great men. Across the Atlantic, after the terrible 
storm, he came with us back to Rio Janeiro. Shore 
leave was fatal, and on a beautiful afternoon, amid 
all the beauty of the bay, mountain and sky, he was 
brought upon the deck of the little bark to die of de- 
lirium tremens. On a radiant afternoon, amid the 
contortions of his inflamed imagination, his eyes closed 
forever. What could be more in contrast with the 
sweetness of the things about us, than this young man, 
in the glory of his manhood, dying in terror amid the 
beauty of the world? 

After the readjustment of the cargo, our little bark 
again breasted the seas and finally succeeded in round- 
ing the Cape. It was a case in those days of rounding 
the Cape. The navigators of the world had not yet 
fully determined the presence of dangerous rocks and 
treacherous shores, and the safe navigator rounded 
the Cape, as a matter of precaution, hugging the frozen 
shores of the Antarctic Circle, rather than the dark 
shores of Tierra del Fuego, through the straits. 



6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Through the stress of storms, the burning heat of 
pulseless calms, our little bark, for several months 
more, fought its way along the western shore of 
the Continent, until in February, 1850, it entered the 
Golden Gate, and cast its anchor in the Bay of San 
Francisco. 

In my nurse's arms I was carried to the mainland 
of California from a boat, which landed at what is now 
the corner of Montgomery and Jackson Streets, in 
the present city. 

The city was but a conglomerate of rude buildings, 
massed about a civic center, where now is Portsmouth 
Square, and from whence, in straggling groups, rude 
cabins and white tents dotted the slope of Telegraph 
Hill, Clay Street Hill and Russian Hill. The western 
limit of the city was inside of what is now Powell 
Street and the southern limit far north of present 
Market Street. 

Gold had been discovered ; a restless fever was in the 
blood of men and the streets of the crude little city 
pulsed with the excitement of men drawn from all 
parts of the United States and all quarters of the 
globe. It was an incongruous group, made up of all 
-types, colors, faiths and conditions, actuated by a com- 
mon purpose and one hope. Among these were men 
afterwards famed as jurists, statesmen, poets and 
scholars. 

Perhaps in no similar exterior boundaries was ever 
gathered together a group of men in which was ex- 
hibited more of splendid physique, matchless courage, 
lofty genius and aspiring ambition. Names then un- 
known afterwards in all departments of life made the 



VOYAGE TO SAN FRANCISCO 7 

world's pages of history luminous by splendid achieve- 
ments. The good woman commanded a reverence 
never more intensely exprest among men. Men were 
lonely for the companionship of women, were hungry 
for the sweetness of home life, and on this verge 
of the world thirsted for the sweetness of pure 
womanhood. It was the glory of the early Califor- 
nia days that a good woman could travel from one 
end of the city to the other at any hour of the day 
or night, protected by her own sweetness, and every 
man whom she met constituted himself, while she was 
within his presence, and as long as she was within his 
horizon, her special guardian. 

Men were real in those fine days. Sham had 
slim chance to succeed when met by the strenuous 
honesty of men who knew that they were moral be- 
ings and acted up to their knowledge. The com- 
munity weighed and branded men, and this brand was 
the badge by which their fellows recognized them. 
The terrible outbreak of 1856 against wrong and 
wrong-doing and the heroic work of the Vigilance 
Committee was the volcanic expression of the pas- 
sionate love of the people of the young city for justice 
and civic righteousness. There was moral strength 
and beauty in the lives of those who made up its 
citizenship. 



Chapter II 

THE STRENUOUS LIFE OF EARLY DAYS IN 
STOCKTON 

A WILD current was in the blood of men in the days 
-^^ of 1850; an indifference to alL things except 
gold, a restless energy was the mood of men, who 
in other places, and under other conditions, would 
have been sedate. All were young; many of rare 
qualities of mind. Moral restraints were relaxed; 
home was beyond the mountains or across the seas, 
and the sweet influence of the fireside, which ordi- 
narily held men obedient to fine action, was lacking. 
Men in the mass were reckless, actuated only by the 
excitement of their environment. San Francisco was 
the sole seaport of the State, and Sacramento and 
Stockton the inland distributing points for the mines, 
then the seat of all the activities of the State. Sacra- 
mento occupied the site of Sutter's Fort, and was an 
aspiring village, from which radiated all of the trade 
of the northern mines; while Stockton, then an am- 
bitious town, rivaled Sacramento in its volume of trade 
with the southern mines. 

Men who were afterwards prominent in political 
life — lawyers, doctors and merchant princes — were 
engaged in toil with their hands. No distinction ex- 

8 



EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 9 

isted ; men were ranked by their fellows by what they 
could do, and what they did. Life was robust, and the 
relaxing pleasures intense. Intellect was at high tide, 
and passion at a white heat. 

Men in the main were honest, generous and brave. 
Crime, except by violence, was seldom committed, 
and petty offenses were the abomination of men who 
dealt only with large things in a big way. Murder 
might be condoned, while mere thefts were frequently 
punished by death. The population had so far come 
from the States, and the foreigner had but little part 
in the early possession of California. 

Stockton was a typical town, and its daily life an 
expression of life everywhere. The "survival of the 
fittest" was the ruling law, and constituted the equa- 
tion of endeavor among men. The strong asked no 
quarter from the strong, but a patient kindliness 
was extended to the weak. The crowd wrought, 
fought, gambled, lived and died, for gold. To- 
day might be a comedy, to-morrow a tragedy. In 
and out of the streets of the little city a human tide 
ebbed and flowed, moving always to the canyons and 
slopes and ravines of the hills and mountains, where 
were the gold deposits. No man stopt long enough 
to view the beauty of the pastoral lands that spread 
out under the blue skies ; none dreamed of the orchard 
or vineyard, or of a home in the radiance. These 
were no part of the hope of the restless throng rush- 
ing to the mines. However, in it all was the germ of 
the future — of the present splendid empire of product 
and population, which is now a romance and a com- 
monwealth. 



lo LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

To a boy of five years, the restless activity was fas- 
cinating, and many a day the school-bell called in vain 
to tardy feet, that lingered among the moving pano- 
rama — great twenty-mule teams, drawing immense 
wagons, popularly called ''prairie schooners," loaded 
with tons of provisions to feed the miners in the hills ; 
pack-trains, loaded for the remoter places, reached 
only by trail ; the patient burro lazily pacing along with 
the prospector's outfit, and now and then the slow- 
moving ox-team of the incoming immigrant, just in 
from the plains, dusty and picturesque, the peculiar 
type of men "all the way from Pike." "John China- 
man" had reached the land, and now and then moved 
in and out of the kaleidoscopic scene, and sometimes 
"Mary," his consort, was seen with him, adding, with 
her fantastic garb and headgear, an Oriental cast to 
the picture. 

There was tragedy and death. The brilliance of 
their hopes blinded many a sedate conscience. 
Memories of the quiet and charm of the Eastern home 
became clouded and indistinct amid the temptations of 
this enticing life. Never before in the history of the 
world had there been such a promise to the expecta- 
tions of men, and the very flower of the land was here, 
to wrest riches from the abundant earth. 

The late comer in these days of commerce — days of 
occupations which deal with the earth as a producer 
of grain, the apple, the orange and the grape — ^has but 
little conception of how abundant gold was in the 
early days. It has been said, and it is doubtless with 
rare exception true, that during some time in his life 
in California, every man who worked in the mines had 



EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON ii 

in his hands, as the fruit of his toil, at least sufficient 
to have constituted a competence, beyond his dream, 
when he started from his Eastern home. 

Men wrought as individuals, not in combina- 
tion. The partnership was a frequent relation, but 
the corporate form of action had not yet been adopted, 
and while ordinarily great fortunes were not made, 
individual competency was accomplished, and this con- 
dition exhibited the marvelous extent of the gold- 
producing areas, from the Siskiyous, standing between 
Oregon and California, to the Mexican line. Gold 
was in abundance everywhere — in the ravines, in the 
low-lying foothills, in the slopes of the lofty moun- 
tains, in the beds of rivers. It had been sown as the 
sower casts his grain. 

The deep ledge deposits disclosed by later explora- 
tions were not a source of wealth in the early days; 
under the grass-roots were the nuggets and fine gold. 
As illustrating this, it is a matter of history that at 
Shaw's Flat, a lovely little valley lying just to the 
northwest of the town of Sonora, in Tuolumne County, 
and covering not more than two hundred acres, there 
was a harvest of over one hundred million dollars. 
While this particular spot perhaps yielded more than 
any other like area, it was typical of the entire gold- 
producing area, whose aggregate ran into hundreds 
of millions. 

'The days of old, the days of gold, the days of 
'49" are not the words of a song only, but the ex- 
pression of a historical fact. The world stretched 
forth its hands into this treasure-house, and its chil- 
dren gathered without stint. 



12 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

As a part of all were the lights and shadows of 
human experience; lights that were blinding, shadows 
that were impenetrable; joy and sorrow, hope and 
despair. Experience rose to the highest moral ex- 
pression, or descended into the depths of despair. Vice 
and virtue, honor and dishonor, were daily companions, 
for the limitation of daily life did not permit of segre- 
gation, and it was as with the Old Guard at Waterloo 
— each must care for himself. To some this condi- 
tion was a lifting force, to others the pressure was 
downwards — the good became better, and the bad 
worse. This was the inevitable. It may be that it 
was no more inevitable than it is in these days, for 
still the moral grind goes on, some rising, some fall- 
ing, day by day. 

The most terrible of all things occurring in those 
days were individual cases of crime, involving some 
of the finest types of the young. Many a gray-haired 
"Mother in Israel," in the sanctuary of her Eastern 
home, sat by the old cradle of her first-born and sang 
"Where is my wandering boy to-night?" to which 
refrain came an answer never. Her boy was in his 
grave, slain by a bullet, or dying at the end of the 
strangling rope on the gallows. As a boy, I well re- 
member two striking examples of both. 

One beautiful Sunday morning, while my father and 
I were passing down the street on the way to church, 
we heard a shot and saw a rushing crowd. A young 
man in the flush of his powers had been shot down, 
while sitting in a bootblack stand, by another young 
man, with whom he had had a quarrel during the 
previous night, over the gambling table. There were 



EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 13 

no words, just a shot, and a dead man was lying in 
his blood, Hfting to the radiance of a perfect day a 
stilled, white face. The young man was a gambler, 
associated with one of the leading saloons of the 
town. He was popular, and the gamblers desired 
that he should have a Christian burial, and my 
father was solicited to perform the rites over him. 
It was a peculiar funeral. There was no place in 
the little town where such a service could be held, 
so the saloon was closed, and, standing upon the bil- 
liard table, my father officiated in pathetic service 
over some mother's son. Whether she ever heard of 
her son's death I do not know ; I remember, however, 
another occasion on which my father officiated, of 
which the mother never knew. 

Horse-stealing in these days was punishable by 
death. A young man about twenty-five years of age, 
a splendid specimen of vigorous manhood, of high 
order of intellect and attainments, had become the 
leader of a band of horse-thieves, operating about 
Stockton. The operations of the gang were concealed 
for many months, but finally the officers of the law 
succeeded in running them to cover, and found them 
camped in a little grove near the city, from which as 
a base ' they carried on their depredations. No one 
knew the real name of the leader. He was only 
"Mountain Jim." Associated with him, as one of his 
lieutenants, was a man of low instincts, vile and des- 
perate, known as "Dutch Fred." The main gang 
escaped, but these two were taken, tried and sentenced 
to death. My father, after the sentence, attended 
these men in jail, and did what he was called upon 



14 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

as a minister to do in order to prepare them morally 
for death. 

Dutch Fred refused to accept advice or counsel, de- 
claring that he wanted to die as he had lived. With 
Mountain Jim it was different. His terrible doom, 
the recollections of home and mother, softened his 
spirit, and the memories of his youth made him ap- 
proachable and penitent, and he sought fervently for 
forgiveness and died penitent. Before the execution 
he gave to my father a statement of his early life, of 
his career, and the name of his people, prominent 
in the Eastern States, but asked that this be kept secret, 
for he did not wish them to know that he had died a 
felon. That secret was kept. 

I will never forget the day of the execution, and 
perhaps no such scene was ever enacted in any place 
outside of California. The gallows were in open 
view ; the execution was public, and throngs were pres- 
ent. From the jail to the gallows the condemned men 
rode upon their coffins on a common dray. Mountain 
Jim, stately, handsome, brave and penitent, died like 
a man. The other, true to his low instincts, died ac- 
cording to his ideas of life, and as the spring was 
touched, which landed him in Eternity, shouted to 
the crowd "Here we go, girls," and thus the brutal 
wretch faced the issues of the Hereafter. 

Another tragedy, involving the death of a brilliant 
young man, stirred the little city to its depths. 
Two young journalists, Taber and Mansfield, were 
engaged in the conduct of rival journals. At first they 
were friendly, drawn together by community of attain- 
ments and interests, As time progressed, however, the 



EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 15 

rivalry of business and other interests brought about 
a separation of friendship, and this finally drifted into 
deadly hate. In the columns of their respective papers, 
daily they abused each other in the most violent terms, 
until the newspaper war attracted universal attention, 
and raised the expectation of every one to the pending 
tragedy which occurred as a result of this rivalry and 
hate. The matter became so heated and the danger of 
deadly collision so immediate, that men of prominence 
in the community, mutual friends of both, endeavored 
by every persuasion to heal the breach, and to prevent 
the conclusion which happened not long afterwards. 
After a particularly violent attack made by one upon 
the other, they met upon a street of the city, and, with- 
out any discussion, fought a deadly duel. Mansfield 
was shot down by Tabor, while Tabor escaped un- 
harmed. The story of this tragedy became a national 
story, as the matters involved in the controversy were 
of political moment, and the brilliant character of the 
young men had made them known among news- 
paper men. The name of Mansfield became cele- 
brated afterwards by reason of the fact that he was 
the father of Josie Mansfield, whose relations with Jim 
Fisk in New York brought about his untimely end at 
the hands of Stokes. At this time, she was a beauti- 
ful little schoolgirl, fair of face, and fascinating in 
manner. The prophecy of her future triumphs over 
men through her beauty was in her form. Her life 
was also a tragedy, for, after her career in New York, 
wild and reckless, and bringing about by her coquettish 
arts, the tragedy referred to, it was only a few days 
ago, in one of the daily papers I read that in some 



i6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

little Western town, as a charge upon the public char- 
ity, she, a gray-haired, broken woman, was closing her 
life, with terrible memories, without hope, without 
friends. 

In the administration of justice, as justice was called 
in those days, there was a rude indifference to the 
forms of law, and frequently men were arrested, tried 
by "J^dge Lynch," and executed, without any proof 
such as is now required to satisfy a jury beyond a rea- 
sonable doubt. In fact, often no actual evidence of 
the commission of crime was required, and the whole 
matter was frequently determined by the passion of the 
moment. In such trials, often, liquor had more to do 
with the trial and execution than the judgment of ra- 
tional men. One of these trials, which fortunately did 
not reach execution, illustrates the danger to a sus- 
pected man in the presence of such rough-and-ready 
justice, A young man had come into the city a 
stranger. He had every evidence of character and 
culture, but unfortunately he was a stranger. There 
had been a small band of cattle stolen from near the 
city, within a day or two of his arrival. I can not 
recall that there were any special reasons why he 
should have been suspected of this theft. That he 
was a stranger and no one knew of his former where- 
abouts was reason sufficient, and the conclusion was 
quickly reached that he must be the man who had 
stolen the cattle. He was arrested, given the form 
of one of these "Judge Lynch" trials, found guilty, 
and sentenced to death. He was eloquent ; had much 
personal charm and magnetism. He pleaded with the 
committee who composed the court, and said that if 



EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 17 

they would give him time, he would prove beyond all 
question that he had had nothing to do with the theft, 
and in fact was far away from the scene at the time 
the theft was committed. Some soberer men were 
moved by the young man's plea, and said there was no 
reason for great haste in the execution, and that as 
long as he was secure in the possession of the com- 
mittee, he should have this opportunity. Several days 
passed and finally the young man was able to prove 
beyond any peradventure that he was not gn^ilty, and 
was many miles distant from the scene of the theft, 
on his way from some distant point to the city of 
Stockton at the time ; and he was given his liberty and 
became a valued member of the community. 

Many such trials took place in different sections of 
California, and doubtless many an innocent man was 
sent to his death by unjust suspicion. 

Among the young men in Stockton at this time 
there were two restless spirits, moved more by the 
love of adventure than a desire for riches. One of 
these was Henry Crabb, a handsome, resolute, 
soldierly fellow, inspired by a great ambition to es- 
tablish somewhere in the West a little empire of his 
own. He was a magnetic talker; of great per- 
suasiveness. Going among the young men of the 
town, who had no particular vocation and who had 
not yet gone to the mines, he gathered a band as am- 
bitious and resolute as himself, and they, with Crabb 
as their leader, departed from Stockton on a filibuster- 
ing scheme, into some territory belonging to Mexico. 
The enterprise was fraught with great danger, and 
resulted in disaster. Crabb and his followers were 



i8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

captured by the Mexicans, and, without trial, shot as 
unlawful invaders of the country. The main features 
of the story I can not recall, but as it floated up out 
of the Mexican territory I remember it as full of 
pathos and tragedy. 

William Walker, who was afterwards famous as 
a filibuster leader in Nicaragua, was also for a time 
resident in Stockton. He gathered about him a few 
spirits like himself, and enlarging his band in other 
portions of the country, went with his followers into 
Nicaragua, and there met with failure; he and his 
followers were executed as brigands. So ended the 
warlike enterprises of these daring and desperate 
young men, endowed with more ambition than wis- 
dom. 

A large number of Mexicans, men and women, 
were a part of the population of the little town, many 
of non-law-abiding habits. Most of the women were 
given to the fandango; the man to marauding, altho 
many of them were honest miners and came into the 
country with honest purpose. Among these honest 
miners was a young Mexican who afterwards became 
one of the most famous bandits of his day — ^Joaquin 
Murrieta, whose name, within a few years of the time 
of which I write, was a terror to the entire State, a 
daring, desperate, picturesque criminal. He banded 
together a number of the most desperate and vicious 
criminals in the world, one of whom, his chief lieu- 
tenant, was known as "Three-Fingered Jack." 

Their depredations were confined to no special part 
of the country; they roamed at will, struck one point 
and another almost as the lightning does, with won- 



EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 19 

derful rapidity in movements, eluding always the hand 
of the law, until in 1863, Colonel Harry Love, aided 
by Sheriff Henry Morse, with a band of determined 
men, drove Joaquin, by which name he was generally 
known, and his gang, into a corner, at Tuhare Lake, 
and after a terrible gun-fight killed both Joaquin and 
Three-Fingered Jack, captured others, and thus 
broke up the gang. That Joaquin was killed has 
been a matter of dispute, but in any event he was 
not heard of again. The story of Joaquin's career 
was peculiar and pathetic. He was driven to his des- 
perate courses by an act of injustice on the part of 
some Americans who had taken into their hands the 
punishment of some minor offense which they, with- 
out proof, charged to Joaquin, and of which he was 
guiltless. He was found guilty by a "Lynch law" 
committee and sentenced to be stript and whipt, 
and he, mutilated, disgraced and dishonored, was 
turned loose and ordered to leave the country. The 
indignity and humiliation turned the hitherto kind- 
ly spirit into a burning furnace of hate, made him 
the foe of the American, and led him into a career of 
crime that has been perhaps nowhere, for its romantic 
desperation, equaled in the world. He was of a most 
daring nature, and in his marauding expeditions ex- 
hibited the wildest courage; took the most desperate 
chances. It was his habit to appear at points un- 
attended, and after flirting with the senoritas at the 
fandango halls, carousing with his friends, practically 
doing whatever he chose, announce himself as Joaquin, 
mount his horse, and often, amid a shower of bullets, 
escape to his next scene of adventure. Many thou- 



20 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

sands of dollars worth of property was taken, and 
many lives sacrificed by him and his men, always 
ready to fight with the hated American. 

With the exception of Joaquin and his band, the 
country was practically free of bandits, and the going 
and coming of people in even the loneliest trails in 
the mountains was without especial peril. This was 
the condition during the first years of the California 
occupation. As the country filled up, however, 
there came a different class of men from various parts 
of the world, and there began to be more violence, 
disorder and crime. The organization of the country 
into a territory, with its governmental machinery, had, 
however, an influence for peace, and finally on Sep- 
tember 9, 1850, by an Act of Congress, the State was 
admitted to the Union. 

Communication between the States and California 
at that time was by slow ox-team across the plains, 
or by sea and across the Isthmus. The Isthmus voy- 
age required a month, and it was about the middle of 
October before we knew that the State had been ad- 
mitted. Well I remember the celebration had in the 
city of Stockton in October. That the State had been 
admitted as a free State, and the Southern element 
defeated in its attempt to add it to the slave-holding 
territory, was a matter of great rejoicing among the 
majority of the people. 

There was much bitterness of feeling over this 
raging question, and the exciting discussion in Con- 
gress, a part of the history of those days, had stirred 
the minds of all sections to a white heat. California 
came near being made a part of the slave-holding 



EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 21 

States when, in the RebelHon times, if oft-stated 
historical facts are true, a conspiracy was entered 
into among noted Southereners to turn the State over 
to the Southern Confederacy, and to hold it as part 
thereof under the name of the "Pacific Republic." 
It has passed into history, that the fact that General 
Sumner, who had been detailed by the Government 
to take possession of Fort Mason, and to assume im- 
mediate command of the federal troops in California, 
arrived at the critical moment and assumed command, 
alone caused the preservation of California to the 
Union. 

Lying- about Stockton, in the early days, was a waste 
of tules, under a sea of water. Where now are ex- 
tended fields of asparagus, square miles of potato 
lands, and rich pastures, presenting a region of con- 
stantly increasing agricultural wealth, was then re- 
garded as permanent wastes of water ; and where now 
smiling villages, homes beautiful, and miles of vine- 
yards and orchards, glorify the land, was then re- 
garded as fit only for the pasturage of cattle. The 
productive character of the land and climate was not 
considered, and lands as fertile as the lowlands of the 
Nile were purchasable from the Government at $1.25 
an acre, and even during the war for less, when green- 
backs, a legal tender at the Land Offices, were pur- 
chasable for quite a while for thirty-three and one- 
third cents on the dollar. Far-seeing speculators 
availed themselves of this condition, and bought lands 
from the Government, paying $1.25 an acre therefor 
in greenbacks, purchased from money brokers at these 
rates. Many men with small means thus became ex- 



22 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

tensive landowners, and afterwards of great wealth. 
The change in the natural condition of the country 
from open, unoccupied, waste land, to a great area of 
garden lands, vineyards, orchards, pasture lands and 
grain fields, came about as gold became scarcer and 
men more familiar with the rare qualities of our 
climate, and the marvelous richness of the soil. 

The little village of 1850 has become a modern city 
with all the environments of cultivated life, and the 
lonely acres then lying as waste places under the sun 
now bloom as the rose. 



Chapter III 

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES IN 1855 

*-ri HE little mother longed for her Southern home 
"■■ and kindred after the chaotic conditions of Cali- 
fornia, and after a patient endurance for four years, 
was given respite, and with two of her younger chil- 
dren braved the sea and the Isthmus, on a homeward 
voyage. The necessity for a climatic change on his 
part carried my father, with my eldest brother and my- 
self, during her absence, to the southern portion of the 
State, even then famous for its salubrious and heal- 
ing climate. No Pullman train, luxurious with the 
appointments of ease, carried the traveler over the five 
hundred miles of plain, hill and desert. It was travel- 
ing by sea again, and for the first time after the weary 
voyage around the Horn, we were upon the briny deep. 
The old Senator, then in her prime, was running 
between San Francisco and San Pedro, and because 
she was staunch was a favorite with the public. As 
the sun sank in a blaze of glory, on an autumn after- 
noon, we steamed out of the Golden Gate and bucked 
into a tumultuous sea, and, as the little steamer breasted 
the swells, we recalled the experiences around the 
Horn. Up and down, sideways and criss-cross, she 
rolled and tossed and bounded, her throbbing engines 

23 



24 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

driving her steadily, however, past the headlands and 
the Farallones, into the open roadway of the sea. 
For substantial reasons, we were not hungry when the 
bell rang for dinner, and, had we been, there was but 
little opportunity to have satisfied our hunger, for 
the rolling tables sent flying dishes over the cabin. 
The law of association was at work, and we, in mem- 
ory, were again in the grip of that awful storm of the 
Southern Atlantic, where we fought the wind and 
waters for two weeks. Discretion drove us to the 
stateroom, where we fought for rest until the dawn. 
With the dawn came peace, and as we lifted our eyes 
across the waters to the shoreline, we saw in the per- 
fect beauty of a typical California morning, the Bay 
of Monterey, with its historic town, where first floated 
our Flag, symbol then as now of dominion; of free- 
dom and justice. We were in an atmosphere of his- 
tory and romance, but halted long enough only to 
send off the mail and passengers, and thence onward 
to the South, to Santa Barbara, then a sleepy Mission 
town, which in the radiant sunshine sloped from the 
shore toward the hills. 

Santa Barbara was a typical town of that Church 
which in the past century had possest the most 
favored spots of the State, lifted the Cross, and, un- 
der the roofs, and in the cloisters of cathedrals, now 
world-famed, gathered together the native tribes that 
they might be taught the old, old story, and become fa- 
miliar with the arts of civilization. Many a pathetic 
story of consecration and sacrifice has been given to the 
world concerning these Missions, and it would add 
nothing to the world's knowledge to write more. Many 



SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 25 

of these old cathedrals, with their outlying buildings, 
the home for long years of priest and devotee, are fall- 
ing into decay, and while the lovers of the historic and 
romantic are making some effort now to save them 
from the teeth of time, the State itself has, for fifty 
years, practically done nothing to preserve these his- 
toric places from ruin. Future generations of those who 
love romance and beauty will regard as most worthy 
of preservation these historic Missions. As a State, 
we have been unmindful of our rarest treasure and 
have sat idly by while priceless things have been perish- 
ing. We have never, in a public way, gathered to- 
gether any traditions or lore to fill the storehouses 
from which some future Prescott shall be able to 
gather marvelous data, and write of real things, more 
brilliant and fascinating than all the dreams of imagi- 
nation. Some great names like Junipera Serra are im- 
mortal, and the story of their heroism is the world's 
permanent possession, but no record has been kept 
of many simple, patient, lonely lives devoted to work 
and prayer among the simple natives. 

The angelus floated out from the old Mission tower 
as we weighed anchor in the calm of a summer even- 
ing, and down the coast, past the hills of the Coast 
Range, a picture of solacing beauty, we continued 
our way. The everchang^ng panorama; the excite- 
ment of ship life; the taking on of new acquaintance- 
ships with boys traveling like ourselves, to which 
was added the expectation of what was to be at the 
end of the trip, made this voyage fascinating to the 
robust hopes of a boy of eight years. 

It was on a southern California morning, with its 



26 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

dreamy lights and drifting- fogs, that our little steamer 
swung into the roadway of San Pedro. This port was 
in those days without its later ambitions, and con- 
sisted of a rude wharf, with some ruder shacks climb- 
ing the cliff, about the more pretentious buildings of the 
transportation company, which controlled the steam- 
ship business of the coast. It had no trade except 
the loading and unloading of vessels, which here, for 
Los Angeles, brought its necessary goods and carried 
away the hides and tallow, the principal items of ex- 
port, and fruits for the markets of the north. The 
traffic was not heavy in those primitive days, before 
man cared for or knew of the wondrous things that 
since have made of this region a storehouse of material 
wealth ; a sanitarium for the distrest ; a place of 
dreams for him who, amid the fragrant vineyards, 
olive groves and orange blossoms, now sweetens his 
hope with the visions of things beautiful and com- 
forting. 

At San Pedro, a rude stage took us up, and we 
were jolted over more than twenty miles of dusty 
road, leading through a treeless plain, dry and bare ex- 
cept where mustard fields grew almost into trees, and 
in the bright sunshine, with their vivid yellow, made 
the eyes ache. Bands of cattle, wild as deer, wandered 
about in the yellow wilderness ; thousands of squirrels, 
here and there as the lumbering stage startled them, 
scattered and scampered for safety, into the holes they 
divided with the rattlesnake and the owl. In the dis- 
tance the outlines of the Sierra Madres rose majesti- 
cally against the East, where Wilson and Old Baldy 
held dominion of the higher sky. The snowy sum- 



SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 27 

mits were grateful to us in the dusty road, and we 
hoped soon to escape from the dreary plain, into the 
little Pueblo, where we should find rest. The Pueblo 
was the most important settlement between San 
Francisco and Mexico. Great expectations were in our 
mind as we drew near to the historic town, where 
we were first to see the olive, the orange, the vine 
and pomegranate. We had read in the Bible of such 
lands, and in imagination were familiar with them, 
for Solomon had sung of a land where in the Oriental 
springtime 'The flowers appear upon the earth; the 
time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice 
of the turtle is heard in the land; the fig tree putteth 
forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender 
grape give a good smell." 

Even at the end of long years, the memory of our 
first moment among the orchards and vineyards is 
fascinating. Like scenery in a dream, the picture of 
Los Angeles, first seen, is in our mind. Its loveli- 
ness made us draw long, deep breaths of delight as the 
beauty of it slowly unfolded to our young eyes. 

Words are vain when we try to express deep emo- 
tions, and we have but little hope of conveying to the 
reader of these pages the joy of the boy who stood 
in the presence of what to him was the glory of the 
world. But once before had we seen things as fine, 
and that was on the morning when first, from the deck 
of our ship, in the Bay of Rio de Janeiro, we looked 
out across the sunlit waters, to the beauty of the 
Brazilian capital. 

The San Pedro road entered the town at what then 
was the west end of Main Street, now I believe re- 



28 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

named West Spring Street. It was said at that time 
that the mixed population of Spaniard, Mexican, 
American and Indian, did not exceed twelve hundred. 
Some idea can be formed from these figures, where the 
then Western limits were. The old cathedral, facing its 
ancient plaza, was the center from which radiated the 
streets, along which were grouped the houses in more 
or less compact clusters. Down this main street we 
drove to the Bella Union, then standing near the 
plaza of the cathedral. This bore the same relation 
to the little adobe town that the stately "Alexandria" 
does to the modern city. The main occupation was 
north of the Rio de los Angeles, that, warm and lazy, 
flowed, as if asleep, in and out of the orchards and 
vineyards it nourished. The adjacent hills, now 
crowned with palaces fit for the occupation of princes, 
were dull and bare, except where grew in great patches 
that species of prickly pear known as the "Tunas," 
sweet and red, toothsome to us afterwards, tho indul- 
gence led to lips and tongue swollen with the fine 
needles that covered them. We often suspected that 
these were to torment truant boys who stole from the 
schoolroom to feed on their red sweetness. 

Over the rim of these hills, and beyond, we chased 
the nimble rabbit, and hunted the lark. For this hunt- 
ing we have searched for forgiveness, for long ago we 
learned to love the yellow-breasted innocent of the 
fields, whose three little notes make our California 
mornings sweet with music. 

It was in the midst of the fruit season, and it did 
not take a boy long, who had never gathered a fig from 
a tree or seen a cluster of purple grapes on its vine, 



SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 29 

to arrange friendships that gave him entree to orchards 
and vineyards — what a delightful revel it was in the 
abundance of both! Appetite and capacity seemed 
without limit. We gathered with both hands and de- 
voured the sweets without rest, and wondered how the 
earth could yield with such prodigality things that 
were so delightful to both eye and taste. We had read 
of Damascus, with its rivers of Abarna and Pharpar, 
nourishing her gardens in the desert, and as we wan- 
dered at will in the cool and fragrance of the autumn 
fruitage here, we fell under the spell that for ages 
had made that ancient city, in the heart of desolation, 
the synonym for repose and consolation. 

All of the Los Angeles vineyards and orchards had 
the atmosphere of the Orient; the charm of the an- 
cient gardens, where old races dreamed, and where 
in the bloom of rose gardens and orange groves, lovers 
wooed their maids in a forgotten tongue. The charm 
of these first days in Los Angeles has never perished, 
and in these days, as we stand where palaces of trade, 
caravansaries, courts of justice, and national adminis- 
tration buildings, illustrative of the constructive art 
of the twentieth century, rise in stateliness, we do 
not want to forget the little pueblo, where adobe casas, 
one story in height, were sufficient for the simple 
homes of those who here lived, satisfied with the blue 
skies, the bloom and the romance. 

Spanish was the common tongue. Both Mexican 
and Indian spoke it, with no more violation of its 
idiom or accent than the uneducated American in his 
speech violates the English tongue. The habits of the 
people were faithful copies of Spanish customs. The 



30 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

little pueblo was under the dominion of the Catholic 
Church, and the cathedral controlled from its cloisters 
the home and the school. Other faiths struggled for 
a foothold, but made no inroads upon this dominion 
of the Mother Church. 

The priest was in authority, and he held his flock 
with firm hand. At no place in all of California was. 
the authority of the Roman Church more obeyed and 
revered. Its services were crowded with devotees, to 
whom its decrees were inviolable. They made no ques- 
tion, but in absolute faith knelt at its altars and wor- 
shiped according to the form and in the phrase of< 
the Holy Church, 

The cathedral had a host of priests in attendance, 
holding daily services; its doors were never closed. 
In and out of its portals, during the hours of the day 
and night, a steady stream of old and young, rich and 
poor, devout and sinful, poured, seeking consolation. 
The calendar was crowded with Saints' Days, and it 
was a most frequent sight to see from the doors of 
the cathedral issue a procession of priests and acolytes, 
marching in solemn order with the Exalted Host and 
banners, around the plaza, while multitudes knelt in 
reverent attitudes. This was the second exhibition to 
me, the son of a Protestant minister, of the forms and 
ceremonies of this great Church, by which it held mas- 
tery over the lives and souls of its followers. The first, 
as we have said before, was in the cathedral at Rio de 
Janeiro. The reverence of the people extended to the 
cathedral itself, and no Catholic ever crossed in front 
of it without uncovering his head. This manifesta- 
tion of reverence imprest me greatly, and many a 



SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 31 

time, as I passed before it, I instinctively uncovered 
my head, for somehow the spell of the old church was 
irresistible. Often in the streets, as the angelus 
bells from the towers of the cathedral rang- out upon 
the evening air, have I seen sefior, senora and seiiorita, 
halt with uplifted face and obey the call to worship. 
This custom was universal, and it mattered not what, 
at the moment, was the occupation, all worshiped as 
the angelus rang out. 

Mixed, however, with this obedience to the form 
and ceremony of the Church, there was among a cer- 
tain class more than abundance of riot and disorder. 
There were desperate characters who defied the law 
and preyed upon their fellows. These lived without 
toil, and gathered where they had not sown. The 
fandango houses were often the centers of lawless- 
ness, where mad jealousies, fed by intoxication, bred 
daily conflicts, and murder made horrible nights of 
unbridled revelry. The police record of the first two 
weeks of our advent, if intact in these days, will show 
twelve murders. They were all in the ranks of the 
depraved. Life, the preservation of which should be 
the passion of men, had no sacredness when men were 
slaying for the very lust of slaying, and murder seemed 
a pastime. Desperadoes, with hearts as deadly as a 
knife blade, colonized here, without community of in- 
terest. Lawlessness was carried on by individuals, not 
by bands. None was loyal to the other. Cohesion 
was only for the evasion of the officers of the law, 
and the criminal hidden to-day to prevent his capture 
was liable to be the victim to-morrow, at the hands 
of him who hid him. A strange respect, however, ex- 



32 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

isted in the minds of this lawless class for the ruling 
classes — Spanish, American and Mexican. We do not 
recall, during these years that we spent in Los An- 
geles, a single act by which any one of these classes, 
in person or estate, was molested. This respect had a 
psychological base, and was either a race instinct, or a 
certain occult wisdom, which recognized that crime 
must respect the rights of the orderly classes. It may 
have had its origin in the feudal instinct which made 
the lord of the manor immune from attack and vio- 
lence. "Nigger Alley," situated in the center of the 
town, a place obsessed by lust and murder, was no 
more a peril to the homes of the law abiding, than 
if they were separated by seas. 

Lawlessness was not peculiar to Los Angeles, is not 
mentioned as being so, and is spoken of because it was 
a part of the conditions of those days. It was not 
confined to any race, for among those workers of 
iniquity were men and women of every clime, mixed 
together in a commonwealth of vice. 

In municipal government, there was an equation of 
power; its officers were fairly divided among the 
Spanish, American and Mexican residents. There 
were no jealousies, for the reason that long before the 
acquisition of California, there had settled here, upon 
domains granted to them by the Mexican Government, 
a number of Americans and Englishmen of highest 
character, who had intermarried into the noble Span- 
ish and Mexican families, who were bound by the so- 
cial ties and an intermingled blood. In the veins of 
their children flowed red currents of the Anglo-Saxon 
and the Latin. Notable among these men were Wil- 



SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 33 

son, Workman, Temple and Stearns. These fine men 
ruled over their estates with dignity, and their moral 
influence made easy the transfer to the United States 
•| of ownership, when our flag displaced the Mexican. 
Our flag early became to the native population a sym- 
bol of peace and protection. A fine consideration for 
old laws, associations, memories and customs was 
given by the American to the Mexican, and in the ad- 
ministration of our law, personal and property rights 
were jealously guarded. Matters of doubt were gra- 
ciously resolved in favor of ancient rights, and where 
questions were close, equity was thrown into the scales 
and justice had her perfect work. The Spaniards and 
Mexicans, engaged in secular pursuits, were of neces- 
sity limited to the raising of herds of cattle and horses. 
By an unwritten law they were feudal lords over 
their estates and people. Native Indian retainers, in- 
variably attached themselves to these estates, and a 
host of Mexican assistants, with their families consti- 
tuted a little empire over which the word of these land 
barons was law. There was none to dispute, for by a 
common consent of a community of like barons, this 
was the condition under which they lived. There 
was no chance for dispute, for kindness was in the 
hearts of these men for those attached to them, and a 
generous prodigality was the mood in which they 
gave protection and dealt out sustenance to their 
feoffs. 

Much has been well written of this baronial life, 
and in song, story and drama the world has been 
made familiar with its dignity, tenderness and beauty. 
To this knowledge it would be vain for me to add. 



34 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

The population of the pueblo was pleasure-loving, 
and music and the dance thrilled the hearts of the 
young, while robust outdoor sports furnished amuse- 
ment for those of maturer years. The orderly fan- 
dango was a democratic place, where in the common 
pursuit of pleasure distinctions were leveled; all were 
welcome, and in the mazes of the waltz the flying feet 
of youth and beauty kept time to the delicious melody 
of the guitars, and "Eyes looked love to eyes that 
spake again." 

The young Spaniard and Mexican was proud. His 
outlook upon life was unmarred by commerce or care. 
Business to him was a means, not a pursuit, his pos- 
sessions, the means from which he derived his pleas- 
ures. The tireless energy of these days had not 
touched his spirit. Romance was the wine of his life, 
and when necessity drove him to trade, he exhibited 
no modern thirst for dollars. Personally he was in 
form and apparel a fascinating figure, and, except when 
under the sway of hot passions, smiling and debonair. 
He was fit to be the model for the sculptor, a char- 
acter for the novelist, and to the painter an inspiration. 
In manner he was full of courtesy. The senorita — 
who can hope to describe her with her exquisite grace 
of form and delicacy of feature? Her step was as light 
as the fawn's; her eyes, dreamy with the joy of life. 
Her coquettish joyousness was the despair of lovers. 
In her moods she was a riddle, and, when she chose to 
be, as evanescent as the lights and shades of dawn. 
Music to her was the breath of life, and without it 
she was in despair. She was too sweet for vanity. 
She robed herself in fine linen and laces, because they 



SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 35 

were delicate. Apparel was a handmaiden. She was 
a fashion unto herself, and no Parisian modiste could 
add to her adornments. A white gown, a delicate 
rebosa of lace; a rose in her hair, made her a dream 
of sweetness and grace. She was a fascinating crea- 
ture, and could it be wondered that men, made mad 
by her beauty, fought sometimes to the death ? 

One of the pleasant sights in those days was the 
dress parade of the afternoon, and evening, when 
Main Street was brilliant with the variegated colors 
that made up the adornment of senora and seriorita. 
They were fond of bright colors. The matrons were 
serene and dignified, the senoritas smiling and coquet- 
tish, and true to the instincts of her sisters, among 
all races, and in all ages and lands, cast sly glances 
under drooping eyelids at the gallants, always pres- 
ent to pay court. They were conscious of their charms, 
these dainty damsels, gay with color. They were en- 
chanting to the highest degree, and gave color and 
grace to the street life of the little city. Well we 
remember on Saints' Days, and on the Sabbath Day, 
the coming in from the outlying ranches of these 
seiioras and senoritas, and the peculiar conveyances 
used by them, as crude and primitive as those used 
by their ancestors for generations before. We have 
seen the daintily dressed seiioritas and the digni- 
fied senoras coming into the city and to the cathedral, 
seated in a carro drawn by two Mexican steers, across 
whose horns was lasht a bar of wood to which was 
attached the carro's tongue. The bottom of the carro 
was an untanned oxhide. In this primitive style, 
richly drest, with dignity and grace, these wives and 



36 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

daughters of haughty Mexican and Spanish Dons 
rode in state. 

There was one exception notable to this form of con- 
veyance. We are not at liberty to mention the name 
of the lady, still living, whose husband, a rich Bos- 
tonian, had purchased for her an elegant American 
carriage and a span of bay American carriage horses. 
She was a young and beautiful woman, an envied 
figure, as she was driven in this elegant equipage 
through the streets. 

The outdoor sports of the middle class were those 
peculiar to the Mexican life, and which are to be found 
in the towns and cities of Mexico. Near the cathe- 
dral, and just at the base of the hills, which now are 
crowned with residences, was a bull-pen, where excit- 
ing bull fights were of frequent occurrence, and which 
almost the entire population attended. We well re- 
member a bull and bear fight which took place in 1856, 
and which was an event that created great excite- 
ment, and was a subject of engrossing interest among 
all classes. Business was suspended during the after- 
noon, and the arena crowded. The crowd was about 
fairly divided as partizans of bull and bear. We do 
not recall the result of the fight, but remember the 
fight itself as an important public event. 

Among the vaqueros, contests in horsemanship 
were frequent, in which great skill was exhibited. 
Wild horses were roped, saddled and ridden; the 
frightened animals, frantic with fear and anger, 
bucked and reared and plunged in their vain endeavors 
to unseat their reckless riders. Sometimes, but not 
often, a splendid animal succeeded in his efforts and 



SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 37 

sent the rider hurling through the air, as if fired 
from a catapult. This accomplished, the wild, splen- 
did thing, with the wings of the wind, fled to freedom 
across the plains, carrying with it the sympathy of the 
spectator. 

One of the principal contests was to bury a rooster 
in the earth, leaving exposed only its head. A line of 
horsemen then was formed, and one after the other, 
at the highest speed, rushed past the buried chicken, 
leaned over and grabbed at its exposed head. The 
trick was to secure such a firm hold that the rider was 
able to pull the rooster from his hole. If he suc- 
ceeded, he was victor, and, in addition to whatever 
prize was awarded for the feat, was entitled to thrash 
with the trophy his unsuccessful competitors. 

Often have we seen these rude contests of the horse- 
man's skill. The horsemen were not always Mexicans, 
altho they were most daring and skilful in all 
horsemanship, for the young American had become 
expert and often celebrated for a rare cunning with 
horse and rope. 

Cunning was the skill with which they threw the 
lasso, when horse or steer was in full retreat, and 
the pursuer, riding like the wind, by twist of the arm, 
sent the flying rope yards away, to surely fall on horn 
or hoof. 

A most exclusive group were the old Spanish and 
the Mexican Dons, who, as we have written, were 
close in relations of friendship by intermarriage. The 
Spanish Don was proud but kind ; he was fond of 
homage and given to certain small displays of dignity. 
We can see now Don Pio Pico, the last Governor of 



38 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

California under the Mexican dominion, riding down 
Main Street, his superb horse prancing at every step, 
as if he carried a king, while the old Spaniard rode as 
if he was at the head of a victorious host, his thousand- 
dollar saddle and five-hundred dollar bridle, giving 
to it all a sort of barbaric splendor. To the left or 
right he did not look, but straight forward, and just 
a tilt of vanity was in the fine, old head. Thus he 
rode down the street, the observed of all observers. 
He enjoyed this homage, and was approachable by any 
one who, in speech and manner, indicated a recogni- 
tion of his past honors and his present dignity. 

Don Juan Sepulveda was another fine specimen of 
this aristocracy of Dons, and he too was often seen 
in the streets, riding his fine steed, with the same 
splendor of equipage and the same pride and dignity. 
They were to the manner born, and worthy of the 
esteem they compelled and enjoyed. 

There are splendor and beauty in the great city that 
has displaced the little pueblo of long ago. The dead 
past has buried its dead, but, with the passing, much 
that was fragrant and beautiful and sweet beyond ex- 
pression has passed away forever, leaving to cold 
pages like these reminiscence, not resurrection. 



Chapter IV 

SAN FRANCISCO FROM 1849 TO THE CIVIL 

WAR 

t-r\ HE early occupation of the San Francisco penin- 
-*• sula was typical — a Pueblo and a Mission — the 
secular with the religious. The Mexican was reli- 
gious, whatever else he might be. He had artistic in- 
stinct and religious fervor, and when he founded a 
pueblo, he went over the calendar of the saints in 
search of a musical name, and when the pueblo be- 
came important, he established a Mission for the con- 
version of the natives. The nomenclature of Califor- 
nia is rich in names of saints. California at this 
time was a province of Mexico, too remote for par- 
ticipation in the affairs of the general government; 
was under the auxiliary control of appointed gover- 
nors, and chiefly valued for its contributions to the 
nation's treasury at the City of Mexico. Geographi- 
cally, it was not part of the land of the Montezumas, 
and by the logic of location was a sort of iniperium 
in imperio, held by an allegiance founded upon a com- 
munity of language, laws, customs and religion. It 
was a sort of "opera bouffe" government, carried on 
with much "pomp and circumstance," undisturbed by 
the home government so long as it yielded allegiance 
and. revenue. A certain power resided in the landed 

39 



40 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Dons and the Mission Padres, for there was a happy 
union of Church and State. What disorder could not 
be controlled by the secular power, or by the moral 
influence of the Dons, was quieted by the threatened 
anathemas of the Church, and thus Governor repre- 
senting the Home Government, Don exercising a 
powerful and beneficent moral rule, and Padre deal- 
ing with the consciences and fear of the simple people, 
constituted a triumvirate in whose hands was held 
firmly the good order of the peculiar communities 
which made up the simple and contented population 
of Upper California. 

Portola recognized the physical advantages of the 
peninsula, by reason of its situation on its magnificent 
bay, and the approach thereto from the sea by a gate- 
way that has no second in the world. Here was the 
site for a city and a military stronghold, and thus 
the city of St. Francis had its birth, and the Presidio 
and Mission Dolores came into being. Then, as now, 
the Potrero Hills, the Mission Hills and Twin Peaks, 
were rocky uplifts, green and inviting in the spring, 
but bare and yellow in the summer sun. 

For years before 1849, ^ lonesome peace brooded 
over the little hamlet, which hugged the shore of the 
bay, just inside of the high tide line. Its life was 
contributed to principally by the section of the State 
now occupied by the rich and populous counties of 
Sonoma, Napa, Solano, Contra Costa, Alameda, San 
Mateo and Santa Clara. This territory was held in 
the main by the grantees of the Mexican Government. 
Agriculture had as yet no attractions for the owners 
of the great estates, for to have made the earth yield 



SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849 4i 

of her abundance would have required work, and 
work was as yet an unknown quantity in California. 
To live at ease, in an atmosphere of romance, and to 
rely upon the revenues derived from the cattle that 
roamed over the valleys and hills in countless thou- 
sands, was more in keeping with the taste and dignity 
of these Lords of the Manor. Ships now and then 
drifted in through the Golden Gate, and anchored in 
the bay, bringing their cargoes to barter for hides and 
tallow, the principal products. Money was but little 
needed to carry on business, as the necessities of their 
simple lives were easily supplied. The luxuries of 
these days were confined to the vanities of personal 
adornment, and these the wise owners of the ships sup- 
plied. If life is best when we are comfortable and 
contented, if simple social intercourse makes for the 
dignity of life, if romance has more compensations 
for the spirit than commerce, if dreamers are wiser 
than toilers, then the changes that came after 1849 
and made San Francisco and California the theater of 
a restless activity, breaking into simple home life, 
marring traditions, and breeding a fever in the hearts 
of men, were not for the best, for swiftly began the 
disintegrating work, the dreams of peace to pass away, 
their places to be usurped by ever restless progress. 
The world poured in its multitudes like a stream of 
lava from a volcano, reckless of all things but the 
acquisition of gold. Slowly at first, but with ac- 
celerated speed, old traditions yielded to the new, 
rough hands took hold of possibilities, and a cease- 
less energy made havoc of things that had counted 
in the old life for repose and beauty. 



42 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

These new forces were working like the flame of 
fever in the spring of 1850, when as a boy, we landed, 
as we have said before, in the mud, at the comer of 
what is now Montgomery and Jackson Streets. There 
were no wharves, and this point was a favorite landing 
place, as it was nearer the firm land than any other 
point in the city. Telegraph Hill, then a smooth- 
faced pile of rock, lifted sheer from the water its 
cliffs, disclosing no inviting cove wherein a boat could 
lie. From a point not far east of the present Mont- 
gomery Street, in an undulating line extending to the 
foot of Rincon Hill, was a stretch of mud flats, out of 
sight at high tide, but exposing at low water a long 
reach of slime that shone in the sun. An evidence 
of these mud flats was disclosed by the late fire, when 
at the corner of Sansome and Clay Streets the hulk 
of the old ship Ninantic was exposed, where it had 
been sunk in the early Fifties, to make the foundation 
for the old Nintic Hotel, one of the first-class hos- 
telries of early days. We were able to contrast the 
first hotels of that day with this day, for many times 
we were a guest of that old structure, half ship, half 
house. 

Our recollections of the city and its environment 
are fresh to-day. tho years have intervened, vibrant 
with growth and change. The supreme change came 
with the complete destruction of April, 1906, when in 
two days every historic feature was wiped out, for 
the flame of those awful days covered every foot of 
ground that was occupied in the early days; not half 
a dozen buildings stand to-day to suggest any condi- 
tion then existing. - The part of the city which es- 



SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849 43 

caped from destruction is modern, and has no relation 
to the historic town that displaced the sand-hills and 
encroached upon the mud-flats of the water-front dur- 
ing* the years immediately following the inrush of the 
first population. 

The pueblo grew into a town ; the town into a city, 
and the city finally into one of the world's great capi- 
tals of commerce. Rapidly at first, that part of the 
pueblo, which had for its civic center Portsmouth 
Square, filled up its vacant spaces, and then reached 
out, expanding from necessity, until the slopes and 
apex of Telegraph Hill were covered by dwellings, 
and thence out to North Beach and up towards the 
summit of Russian, California and Clay Streets' hills, 
the town climbed the semi-circle for room. Lots were 
carved out of the rocky sides of these high lands, and 
streets slashed out of the wilderness of trees and brush 
that covered their sides. There was but little of beauty 
in the architecture of those days. Men were not build- 
ing for the future, were seeking only temporary abid- 
ing places, where they could find shelter while they ac- 
quired the fortunes they came to seek in this new 
land. Shanties made up the great body of the pueblo. 
No common purpose was apparent, no community 
of taste ; no evidence of an intent to permanently 
possess. Material and labor were extravagantly high, 
and few cared to expend more than what was actually 
required to secure a temporary shelter. It was a 
straggling collection of habitations, built without de- 
sign, grouped together without thought of founding 
a city. Evident everywhere was the wild scramble, 



44 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

the restless fever, the passion to gather riches and 
to flee. 

Beyond the heart of the town, everything was tem- 
porary, constructed for present use, to be disposed of 
or abandoned when fruition became the end of dreams. 
Streets were mere open spaces cut out through the 
brush, along which men could travel or climb. Side- 
walks were a luxury, to be found only in the older 
parts of the town. Mud in winter and sand in sum- 
mer were everywhere, and men and beasts made 
progress only by toil. Well we recall the long reach 
of steps which led up the slopes of Telegraph Hill 
at Montgomery Street, from Jackson, and the many 
weary climbs we had up those rude and endless stairs. 
There was no segregation, no division, between rich 
and poor; the shack of the laborer was next door to 
the more pretentious home of the banker. No special 
part of the city had as yet, by a natural selection, been 
claimed as the exclusive domain of the aristocrat. 
There was a democracy of possession and use. Life 
was too intense for frivolities and, while there were 
dissipations which were the pastimes of the stalwart, 
Vanity Fair had but few votaries, content to waste 
life in idleness and vice. Men were full of push and 
purpose and imprest their mood upon the place and 
times. The little town became the center of tremend- 
ous forces, guided by the brain and muscle of resolute 
and daring men. 

Over the portals of the great Alexandrian Library 
was carved "Man know thyself." Had an earnest stu- 
dent of ethnological science sought in San Francisco, 
in 1850, for a practical insight into the manhood of the 



SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849 45 

world, he would have found the field ripe for his 
studies, for here had gathered and were gathering the 
children of all the nations, and the people of all races. 
Types were manifest in groups, in racial traits, appar- 
ent in speech and conduct of the individual. The 
Chinaman with his washhouse and garden, the German 
dealing out his beer after the manner of the Father- 
land, the Italian serving his macaroni or grinding at 
the street organ assisted by his monkey lieutenant, 
the Spaniard furnishing amusements for the crowd 
with his fandango halls, the Irishman tearing down 
the sandhills with his shovel and the son of Egypt 
sweating under his burdens or polishing the boots 
of his white brother — were part and parcel of the cos- 
mopolitan population. The gambler and the outlaw 
had hastened here like vultures to prey upon their fel- 
lows and, while honest men toiled, plotted, individually 
and in gangs and preyed upon the prosperity of the 
community. At first men, with a purpose, were too 
busy to bother with the offenses of these renegades 
who, without morals, were brainy and of desperate 
courage. From bad these outlaws rapidly gravitated 
to worse; they mistook the indifference of good men 
for cowardice, and undertook to control affairs and to 
run the city in a high-handed defiance of law and 
order. They finally focalized public attention upon 
themselves until they were branded and recognized 
as "hounds." Forbearance at last ceased to be a vir- 
tue, and when it became apparent that the machinery 
of the law was in the hands of these men, their asso- 
ciates and friends, the law-abiding, resolute, honest 
men organized for protection in 1856. They took 



46 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

possession of the city, with its affairs, made history, 
established the rule of good order that for years after 
and until the time of the second election of Lincoln, 
through the dominant "People's Party," made San 
Francisco the best governed city politically, and the 
cleanest city morally, in the world. We can rely upon 
these pages in our civic history and make defiant 
proclamation to all doubters. The official records, 
judicial, legislative and executive, of these Vigilance 
Committee days, and the days which followed, dis- 
closed the names of men who stood then and during 
a long life afterwards for the highest ideals of man- 
hood. H. P. Coon and Samuel Cowles^ upon the 
police bench ; H. L. Davis and Charles Doane in the 
sheriff's office; Martin Burke in the police office, 
stood up for probity, for public and private virtue. 
The police force was free from scandal, and was made 
up of men of the highest character. The District 
Court benches were filled with lawyers of distinguished 
attainments and character. Graft was unknown. The 
entire situation was ideal. Politics did not enter into 
elections. There was a single party, that was the 
"People's Party." The best men of the city, irrespec- 
tive of previous political affiliations, attended nominat- 
ing conventions, and without log-rolling, chose the best 
men of the community for all of the offices and nomi- 
nated them. This done, the casting of the vote on 
election day was a matter of form. 

We were not in San Francisco during the time that 
the Vigilance Committee did its effectual work, but 
we returned shortly thereafter and became familiar, 
as did all Californians, with the way it did things, 



SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849 47 

and what it accomplished in rescuing the city from the 
hands of thugs, and firmly establishing the reign of 
law and order. Then, members of this Committee 
were not triflers; had no personal ends to subserve; 
they were men of afifairs, whose lot had been cast into 
the community. The reckless disregard, even of the 
forms of law, by those then in control, made condi- 
tions too desperate for tolerance, and when the ad- 
ministration of law became farcical or vicious, these 
men acted with dispatch and courage. All men were 
given a fair chance to prove their innocence, failing 
in which, they were executed, where their crimes were 
capital, and driven from the city when their presence 
was a menace. Every act was done decently and in 
order. Never before or since has such a group of men, 
acting in such a desperate emergency, been so free of 
the mob spirit. The decrees of the Committee were 
Medean and beyond appeal, but were rendered only 
upon evidence that could not be gainsaid. Absolute 
was the certainty upon which the Committee acted; 
and the history of those days, and of the Committee, 
will reveal no hasty act, nothing done in which there 
was any mixture of malice. The unity of motive was 
complete, and while in the secret conclaves discussions 
were had, often intense in character, final action was 
a unity. No jealous controversies, no personal ambi- 
tions marred its heroic work; and as a logical conclu- 
sion of all it did, when done, it handed over a clean 
and purified city to the officers of the law, with power 
to administer the law fairly and impartially. 

Boy as I was, this work was inspiring and gave me 
an insight into what clean men could do with an un- 



48 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

clean situation. The personal character of some of the 
leaders of the Committee, we may discuss hereafter. 
As a boy, I was familiar with conditions that made the 
action of the Vigilance Committee a moral necessity. 
We well remember one election just prior to the or- 
ganization of the Committee, while a desperate crowd 
of rounders controlled the city, our curiosity led us to 
stand about the polls on election day, on Kearny Street, 
between Clay and Sacramento, watching with a boy's 
wide-eyed interest the crowd and its excitement. Sud- 
denly a pistol shot rang out, and the frenzied crowd 
sought safety around the corner. I was not long in 
joining the rush for safety, and when I recovered 
breath enough at a safe distance to ask what was the 
matter, was told that a man had been shot for trying 
to steal the ballot box. I did not quite comprehend 
the situation, and asked what he wanted to steal the 
ballot box for, and was told that it might be stufifed 
with votes. Stealing ballot boxes and stuffing them 
with illegal votes were the means used to secure and 
hold political power by the desperate gamblers. 

Returning to our relations, as a boy, with the early 
city, growing daily from the accessions from all quar- 
ters of the globe, it is fascinating to go back across the 
stretch of years and to recreate things that were in 
the presence of things that are. The conflagration of 
1906 was the third sweeping fire we had seen, practi- 
cally wiping the city, in its business part, out of exist- 
ence. Three times have we seen the naked ground, 
where now in their fine proportions stand magnificent 
and towering structures, made strong and splendid 
by modern art and design. The unquenchable energy 



SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849 49 

of those who suffered was not daunted by these, to 
them, minor disasters. Time only was allowed for 
the ashes to cool and again the hammer, the saw and 
the trowel were in patient hands, reconstructing better 
buildings on the old sites. These fires, so far as the 
city was concerned, were special providences, for each 
time the new far surpassed the old. The first neglects 
were cured, a civic pride displaced indifference, and 
the proportions and grace of an ambitious, sane archi- 
tecture began to be a part of new edifices, public and 
private. Better streets became a necessity; municipal 
cleanliness was imperative; and thus by disaster was 
the city aided in its development toward the perma- 
nent. Trade expanded, commerce became as remunera- 
tive and more certain than the mines, and those who 
had been educated in counting-houses and marts of 
trade saw opportunities of fortune in these occupa- 
tions, and settled down to the steady accomplishment 
of business. Dreams passed into hopeful activities, and 
the fame of San Francisco traveled across the world — 
not as a seaport, where men could land in a domain 
of gold, but as a commercial rival with the oldest 
and richest ports of trade anywhere in the world. 
Her relation to the Orient was recognized and prophecy 
blew through her trumpet that here should yet be 
builded a city magnificent in extent, beauty and wealth. 
A vision of great things often locks the lip for fear 
that the vision may have been a delusion. We are free 
to say, however, if we are faithful to moral la'yk? in per- 
sonality and resource, no man need be afraid to pro- 
claim from the housetops that we yet shall rival all 
the splendid capitals of the world. 



50 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Evolution had her perfect work in San Francisco. 
Steady as the march of the stars has been her advance 
along the highway of progress. We stand in her 
streets to-day like one in a dream, where, rising from 
her ashes, falls upon us the shadow of splendid struc- 
tures, while there beats about us the din of mighty 
work. "Rome was not built in a day" was a copybook 
maxim of our school days — no! But as memory 
works it seems to us that San Francisco has been built 
three times in a day. Desolation and ashes still cling 
to a part of her scorched garments, but time and the 
genius of our people will, in the new years, build and 
renew the vacant spaces. She will be ready in due 
time for the millions on their way to her gates, and 
their dwellings shall be palaces, enriched by all that art 
can do, in the twentieth century, to make them beau- 
tiful. 

It sometimes seems as if it could not be true, that 
we have been a part of the evolution of this city of 
wonder. It seems but as yesterday that we climbed 
up the slopes of California Street hill, and, at Powell 
Street, left behind the city, as we wended our way out 
through the woods and underbrush to the beach, where 
we gathered blackberries and wild strawberries, as 
we watched our traps set for the cunning "Chippie" 
birds. This was the schoolboy's Saturday relief from 
school. This western part of the peninsula was then 
a wilderness, nowhere were signs of occupation, ex- 
cept now and then, widely separated, dairy houses, 
lonely amid the bushes. The beach out by the his- 
toric Cliff House, was a place of silence, except for 
the voices of the sea as its thunders beat against the 



SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849 51 

cliffs. The seals, as now, were there, wallowing in the 
sun and barking to their fellows. We can not now, 
as then, at North Beach and South Beach, battle with 
the salt waters, nude as a baby. We can not hail an 
omnibus in Montgomery Street for the only ride in a 
public conveyance in the city. This line of omnibuses 
was a feature of the early city, and at the time of its 
establishment it ran from the North Beach up Stock- 
ton, down Washington, through Montgomery to 
South Park, then the most fashionable residential part 
of the city. We can not board a train of steam cars 
at Lotta's Fountain, for a ride to the Willows, to spend 
a holiday afternoon. We wandered at night in the 
shadow of unlit streets. Truly the old things have 
passed forever. It has not been all gain. Transitions 
have their losses, and we often, in the beauty and 
brilliance of the new, pine for the simplicity, safety 
and freedom of the old, when we and the pueblo were 
young together. 

The fateful April i8th, 1906, did the world its 
greatest harm in the destruction of priceless accumu- 
lations of many minds; the patient toil of years in 
many a field rich in historic interest perished in a 
moment. This will finally remain as the real loss 
to the world. Many material things were ready for 
destruction to make way for better things. The three- 
fifths of the city swept into ashes was that portion 
which could be removed only by some such disaster. 
But the gain to the city, as such, and to the State and 
to the world is immeasureable. Palaces of commerce, 
temples of worship, splendid homes of drama, rising 
in the beauty of modern art, are crowding the main 



52 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

avenues of the city, and everywhere the most magnifi- 
cent city of the world is rising toward the sky. 

The new city is a revelation of civic beauty. Truly 
now the cleft in the hills we named, in an hour of 
poetic fervor, the "Golden Gate" is such because it 
opens up to the Pacific seas a highway to the countless 
thousands of the world, by which they may enter into 
the City Beautiful. 

Three active agents wrought for our good in our 
disaster. The earthquake shock smote the worn-out 
buildings near to but not beyond the hope of repair, 
and wrecked the water mains, the only agents of 
safety, so that the fire wiped out the wrecked buildings 
beyond the temptation of repair. The accumulation 
of hundreds of millions of the world's insurance com- 
panies furnished the capital for rebuilding. This was 
an awful but splendid plan for the creation of a great 
city. While the loss of the accumulations of genius 
may as yet seem irreparable, it may be that the future 
will disclose that this was also a providence, the 
greatest of all ; for yet, from our ashes, may arise a 
distinctive art and literature that shall express on 
these Western shores a beauty richer far than the 
glories of Greece or Italy, because it shall be more 
human. It may be that in the finer achievements of 
the mind and soul of men, here shall be created "the 
new Heaven and the new Earth ;" for God never works 
in vain, and "the light that never was on sea or land" 
may be the force that shall justify the genius of the 
Anglo-Saxon and verify the dream of Rhodes, who 
left to the world by his will and testament his vast 
accumulations for this great purpose. 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 53 

All great things have a radiating center. Nothing 
focalizes human affairs like beauty, and the splendid 
city was the primal need for a full development of dis- 
tinctive Western genius, world-wide in energy, and hu- 
man in the forces which shall quicken the minds and 
hearts of its people. Here is the dream and the 
achievement of Rhodes. Can any man say that there 
is no relation between the dream of Rhodes and the 
destruction of San Francisco? Could Anglo-Saxon 
civilization meet the challenge of the Orient without a 
splendid cjty on the shores of the Pacific ? 

The challenge of the Orient comes at the hands of 
the Japanese, a race hardly a half-century removed 
from barbarism, yet standing beside its cradle and 
waving commercial and military defiance to the West- 
ern world. The Chinese for centuries have traveled 
in a circle; the Japanese strides toward mastery in a 
terribly straight line as the shortest cut to Empire. 
Our occupation of the Pacific Coast has been by moral 
gravitation toward great things. If Berkeley was a 
prophet when he wrote "Westward the course of em- 
pire takes its way," then the dominant city of the 
western slope of the continent must be great, beauti- 
ful. How could it be such except with all that was in- 
significant, inadequate wiped away by shock and fiame ? 

As I review the wondrous changes from 1849 ^'^ 
1909, I sometimes wonder that I am able from memory 
alone to draw accurate pictures of things long past, 
and to follow along the lines that lead from one his- 
toric era to another, and to set in appropriate groups 
the events that have molded the capital city of the 
Western world. 



Chapter V 

PASTIMES, OCCUPATIONS AND PLEASURES 
IN RURAL COMMUNITIES 

rr« HE boys and girls of early California were a ro- 
■*■ bust lot of youngsters, full of blood and vigor, 
a happy-go-lucky, careless, laughing, shouting crowd. 
They were the progeny of men and women who found 
life in California inspiration and beauty. Home was a 
real thing. Mothers gathered their children about the 
table, sat with them by the fireside and instilled into 
them the homely virtues that are potent builders of 
character. In this atmosphere they grew up with 
moral outlooks, respect for their elders and a rever- 
ence for woman, but they were riotously full of life. 
Temptations were few, and the happy-hearted child 
grew up where old-fashioned morals were in the cli- 
mate. 

Schools were old-fashioned, but somehow the old 
district schools turned out many men who afterwards 
made history and became as famous as those who are 
turned out by the modern universities. Webster's old 
spelling book, Towne's old Fourth reader, McGuffey's 
old Fourth reader and Murray's grammar have been 
the foundations of many a solid scholarship of men 

54 



EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES 55 

who have been noted for profound and brilliant attain- 
ments. The spelling school was held at the school- 
house once a week during the night time, to which old 
and young were welcome, and where the toddling 
youngster and the gray-haired grand-daddy competed 
in the same line of spellers. This made accurate the 
knowledge of words and from the rivalry engendered, 
many became so proficient that there was not a word 
in the old spelling books that they could not correctly 
spell. It was great fun, and one of the wholesome 
vents for youthful enthusiasm. There were innocent 
flirtations carried on between the bashful lads and the 
winsome, coy, little maidens, which was a part of the 
weekly spelling school, which ripened into lifelong af- 
fections, culminating at last at the altar. In after 
years Pa and Ma told their youngsters how they used 
to go to spelling school. These were, of course, 
limited to the country schools, for the city children 
had other chances for recreation. 

The weekly debating society was another but more 
pretentious and ambitious institution. This was also 
held weekly, usually on Saturday night. The partici- 
pants in this were the half-grown lads and young men 
of the neighborhood, who organized with a ponder- 
ous constitution and a long list of by-laws, and under 
their protection fought out many a forensic battle over 
questions that have puzzled the minds of sages for 
ages and are still unsettled. To these debating so- 
cieties a large part of the rural community used to 
gather, old men with their wives, young men with 
their sweethearts, listened to and applauded the elo- 
quence of the fervid young orators. The question 



56 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

to be debated on any night was selected by a standing 
committee on the night of the preceding meeting, so 
that all might have an opportunity to prepare for the 
debate. Among the members of these societies were 
many who were in deadly earnest, had deep-seated 
ambitions to profit by their opportunity, and studied 
during the week, after a day in the field, history, 
rhetoric, logic and kindred wisdom. The history of 
the State subsequently, in the records of the Legisla- 
ture and the Courts, had names of bold, brilliant men, 
whose first efforts were in the country debating so- 
ciety. ; This record is not peculiar to early Califor- 
nia life, but is a national one, for the House of Repre- 
sentatives and the Senate of the United States have 
been thrilled by lofty ideals and beauty of speech ac- 
quired by the orator in some backwoods debating so- 
ciety. The influence of these societies upon the rural 
communities was substantially good. Social relations 
of families were established, courtesy polished crude- 
ness of manner, and the kindly but awkward lad was 
made familiar with the usages of society. That this 
last result was possible may seem strange, but not 
when it is known that in almost every society there 
were men who were scholars and refined gentlemen, 
who did not regard it beneath their dignity to partici- 
pate in these deliberations. Such models of demeanor 
to the rustic youth he studied and copied. The con- 
tests were often spirited but were always in good 
humor, and we can not recall a single instance where 
in the surge and grapple of the battle rude speech ever 
marred the temper of the debaters. 

The presence of the rustic belles gave grace and 



EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES 57 

brightness to the occasion, while their presence was a 
call to order. They were to many a lad the inspiration 
of his speech. 

Both the spelling and the debating societies were 
over-shadowed by the weekly singing school. In 
every community there was some man who at least 
thought he was a budding Caruso, and was ambitious 
not only to exhibit his talents but to add to his purse 
the little revenue to be derived from musical instruc- 
tion to those who had musical talent. The singing 
school was a pay institution. A series of lessons were 
given, usually running over three months of the win- 
ter. The fee for the course was very reasonable and 
within the means of everybody, and as the school was 
a sort of center of social life while it lasted, it was 
usually crowded. The doors were open to spectators 
and visitors, and from all directions on meeting night 
young and old gathered. Before the call to order and 
the serious work, the old farmers gathered into knots 
and discust the weather, the crops and the state 
of the market; the kindly housewives chattered over 
those small things that make up home life — their chil- 
dren, the price of butter and eggs, and what they had 
seen on their last visit to town; the young lads and 
lasses were not apt to group, were more often to be 
found two by twos, a little apart from the others, 
and bright-eyed and happy-hearted, laughed them- 
selves into moods that made the music crude, how- 
ever it might be from an artistic point beautiful 
and attractive to them. The old country singing 
school was wholesome. It brought neighbors closer 
together, fixt kindly relations, relieved the tedium of 



58 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

secluded lives on the ranch, and kept fresh hearts that 
otherwise might have grown tired, and callous from 
the loneliness of country life. It humanized, set 
moral standards wider apart, and brightened the out- 
look of daily lives that were too likely to become but a 
treadmill between dawn and sunset. 

The master was usually some member of the com- 
munity, with a little talent for music and a limited 
knowledge of the art, with a voice more ambitious 
than melodious. It was taken for granted that he 
knew more than did his scholars, and this qualified 
him for his office, and he usually made up in zeal what 
he lacked in culture. His chief qualification may have 
been that he was fairly good-looking and a bachelor 
of marriageable age. To any young damsel he was 
a possibility and this increased her interest in her 
studies. The little rural maiden was cunningly pro- 
ficient in all the arts of flirtation and but little behind 
her stately sister of the city. Her environment was 
more simple, her opportunity more limited, but the 
human heart everywhere, in the country and the city, 
beats with the same rhythm, and the little wood nymph 
is as expert in the interpretation, often more so, than 
the princess who stands within the circle of the 
throne. Often, if some favored swain was a little shy 
or slow and needed a little prodding, it was easy for 
the wise little witch to quicken his interest by letting 
him see her flirt with the teacher. 

Sunday in the country was a day universally ob- 
served. There was real reverence in the hearts of the 
simple folk in the old days for the "Lord's Day." 
Work was laid aside. It would have been disreputable 



EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES 59 

then for a man to have driven his team afield, or to 
have done more than necessary chores — feed his stock, 
milk his cows and groom his horses. The men and 
women folks cleaned up and put on their "Sunday-go- 
to-meeting" clothes and sedately enjoyed the calm and 
silence of the hours of real rest and refreshment. 
The district school was, on Sunday, the usual place 
of worship, except in more ambitious neighborhoods, 
where a church was erected for the use and benefit 
of all denominations. The roads leading to this house 
of worship would be lined with vehicles, more or less 
pretentious, carrying the good country folks to 
church. A sedate gravity was on all of their faces, 
as if the time and place were serious. There was 
always something beautiful about these Sunday meet- 
ings, where the simple folk, without regard to de- 
nom.ination of the preacher, gathered to sing hymns, 
and devoutly listen to the "old, old story." A curi- 
ous custom derived from whence we never knew was 
the division of the sexes. To the church-house door, 
a man would walk with his family, and as soon as 
they entered the door, he, with his sons, would walk 
to their seats on one side of the aisle, and the mother 
with her daughters to the other, and thus divided 
as merest strangers they remained during the service. 
After the service was over occurred the main social 
hour of the week. Preacher and his congregation 
spent half an hour or so in friendly talk, neigh- 
bors shook hands and made kindly inquiries, the 
women folks, old and young, had the weekly renewal 
of friendly relations, and the preacher, who was most 
often from abroad, was carried ofif to dinner to some 



6o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

farmhouse, where there had been prepared the his- 
toric chicken, and neighbors who also Hved at a dis- 
tance were made by loving compulsion to go with 
neighbors nearby for dinner, and thus with the sim- 
plicity of perfect hospitality, the lessons of the sermon 
were enforced by the touch of hearts made warm and 
genuine. 

It would be well for us now, if under the swelling 
dome of the modern cathedrals, "whose arches gather 
and roll back the sound of anthems," we could lay off 
the cares of life, its pride and greed, and feel once 
again the sympathy of hearts as true and sweet as 
those that worshiped in the old country schoolhouse. 

The Fourth of July was the great day of the 
country. These celebrations are becoming year by 
year less observed, unfortunately for the country. It 
was looked forward to for weeks. If the nearest town 
did not undertake a celebration, a meeting was held 
in the neighborhood and a committee appointed to 
secure an orator and brass band, arrange for a bar- 
becue and the amusements. This committee was a 
competent body, and they devoted themselves with 
earnest enthusiasm to their work. The orator and 
band were easily secured. The barbecue required 
more effort. The provender to feed the crowd must 
be secured by free contributions, which were gener- 
ously made. Gifts were abundant, and when all else 
was secured, dishes, knives, forks and table-cloths 
for service must be obtained, and these were found 
by levies upon the homes, which were never refused. 
With them came the women folks to serve the crowd. 
It was a labor of love and volunteers were numerous. 



EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES 6i 

The day before the cooks dug trenches, built their 
fires and roasted whole bullocks, hogs and sheep. The 
preparation of fowls was left to the housewives, to be 
roasted in their ovens and brought with them, with 
loads of cakes, pies, breads and condiments, gallons 
of coffee, tea and milk. 

When the exercises of the day were over, the 
hungry, happy patriots were invited to "fall in," and 
they did. It was always a great feast, worthy of the 
day. The feast over, the afternoon hours were spent 
in simple amusements — dancing, ball-games, wrestling 
matches, foot races, and sometimes a horse race or 
two between the rival horses of the neighborhood. 
In all of these there was a good natured, hearty par- 
ticipation that came from simple hearts and healthy 
bodies, loving their country ; the enjoyment of those 
who lived largely in open fields, children of nature, 
nourished by the wholesome air and peace of the 
farm, who found in the day's toil satisfaction, the 
repose of undisturbed nights. Life was not large 
but it was peaceful. The disquiet of restless ambi- 
tions were unknown in the simple homesteads in the 
old country of California. 

The annual camp-meeting, held by some leading 
denominations or by a joinder of several of them, 
in some popular rural center, after the harvest was 
over, was the most serious, extended and largely at- 
tended of all the functions of the year. The denomi- 
nations, that most frequently held these particular ser- 
vices, were the Methodists, Baptists and Christians 
or Campbellites, as they were then called. These 
were great mass-meetings lield in a grove under the 



62 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

authority of the church leaders, to which the whole 
country was invited and welcomed. It having been 
declared that a camp-meeting should be held, the 
time and place fixed, there was a general rounding 
up of the resources of the church for its yearly at- 
tack on the stronghold of the Devil, and the "big 
guns" of the church were invited to take charge of 
the situation. The faithful, with their household 
goods, gathered and erected their tents, joined in a 
common plan for the free entertainment of strangers, 
who might be attracted so that a Christian hospitality 
should supplement the religious services. 

The camp was always in some attractive part of 
the country where the shade of groves and the fresh 
running water were abundant. Two weeks were 
usually the time during which the meeting was held, 
and so arranged that at least three Sundays should 
intervene. These were field days, during which from 
dawn until midnight, Satan and his cohorts were 
bombarded with sermons, songs and prayers. Vast 
crowds were in attendance on these days and the 
whole countryside laid aside every pursuit to swell 
the crowd. These camp-meetings were a psychologi- 
cal study, and he who desired to make a study, safely, 
was wise to do so from a distance, for unless he be 
of rare coolness of blood and steady of mind, he was 
apt to be caught in the ebb and flow of emotions that 
were dangerous to scientific analysis, for there was a 
tremendous volume of deeply stirred feeling, that at 
times rose into ecstasy and mysticism, and men and 
women, whose experience of life was ordinarily along 
uneventful ways, fell under the spell of intense reli- 



EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES 63 

gious fervor, and for the time were transported into 
the exaltation of the old prophets. We have many 
times witnessed these strange exhibitions, where the 
mass yielded to the influence and seemed to be tossed 
and shaken in the throes of a tremendous spiritual 
stress. That a compelling moral force was at work 
could not be denied, for when the calm came, there 
emerged from it, with changed characters, lives out 
of which the dross had been shaken and into which 
had entered new beauty and sweetness. The Parable 
of the Sower was often verified at these meetings. 
The seed fell upon differentiating ground and the 
harvest was according to the fertility of the soil re- 
ceiving the seed. 

The camp-meeting has passed, with many other in- 
stitutions of the old age, but we are constrained to 
say that when they were a part of the social and re- 
ligious economy of the rural people, they were of 
great moral use and force. Once a year, at least, 
they cleaned up the lives of the people and inspired 
them with nobler aspirations and larger hopes. 

In those portions of the State where, over the great 
valleys and the ranges of hills, thousands of cattle 
ranged in freedom, there was admixture of herds, 
whose ownership was indicated by the brand and the 
earmarks. These brands and earmarks were all regis- 
tered so they were protected from piracy. The great 
body of the country was still a pasture, whose occu- 
pation was in common, and he who desired to keep 
separate his lands from his neighbors was, by law, 
compelled to fence. The evolution of the State from 
this condition to the occupation by green fields, or- 



64 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

chards and vineyards, brought about a change in the 
law, and the cattleman was finally compelled to fence 
in his herds. 

While the ranges were in common, some common 
plan was required by which the cattlemen should be 
able to count his herds and to brand his increase. 
To meet this necessity the Mexican "Rodeo" was 
adopted by law, and once a year, on a day fixed, all 
of those, who claimed cattle ranging in any section, 
met with their vaqueros, and from the exterior 
boundaries of the range drove all of the cattle, old 
and young, to a common center, and out of the vast 
mass each owner separated those bearing his brand 
and earmark. These were carefully counted and the 
calves branded and earmarked, and after a careful 
overlook by the assembled owners, the status of own- 
ership was fixed and the herds allowed again to sepa- 
rate to their accustomed ranges, all except such as 
were driven by their owners to market. 

These "Rodeos" often lasted for several days, and 
while they lasted, they were exciting, turbulent, noisy 
scenes. The rush of noisy, excited, bellowing cattle 
beating the plain into dust under the thunder of hoofs, 
the shouts of the vaqueros, who with lasso roped and 
tied the victims of the branding iron, stirred the 
pulses of the visitor and made him familiar with the 
process of cattle raising on a large scale, and gave him 
some insight into the things that made the cattle busi- 
ness fascinating — for the ease and freedom of it ties 
a man to it as long as the ranges are open to the run- 
ning of his herds, and he only gives it up at the call 
of the inevitable — the loss of ranges from the con- 



EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES 65 

tinual lessening of the boundaries by the occupation 
of the individual farmer and fruit-grower. 

Before we close the chapter, let us take up the purely 
boyish sports of the old days of the country. There 
was one thing that the California boy was compelled 
to do or lose caste, and that was to be able to ride a 
"bucking" horse. Unless he could successfully sit on 
a wild horse, saddled for the first time, he was con- 
sidered a "Molly-coddle," and not entitled to ride with 
the more robust and daring chaps who had this 
capacity and this courage. Saturday, being a non- 
school day, was the favorite time for the indulgence 
of wild horse-riding, and many an afternoon on Sat- 
urday, we remember, when the older boys of the 
school would gather at some particular farm, where 
there were a number of such wild horses, and the 
afternoon would be spent in riding these for the first 
time. We remember several of the occasions when 
we undertook this venturesome and strenuous sport, 
and it was allowed as one of the rules of the boys, 
that a boy might be thrown once or twice in his first 
endeavors, but that after that he was not entitled to 
enter the ring of the true sports unless he could sit 
on a "bucking" horse. We had our experience with 
the first two or three jumps, and know how hard the 
ground is when you strike it from the top of a big mus- 
tang. We can truthfully say that there is no motion 
in the world exactly like that of a "bucking" horse, al- 
though in the earthquake of 1906, when we endeavored 
to find something to which we could tie the motion, 
we really did recall the experience we had upon the 
back of one of the "bucking" mustangs. 



Chapter VI 

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 

ri-^HE chief contribution of the world to California 
■■■ from 1840 to 1849 w^s a virile manhood, in 
which was mingled all the noblest qualities of mind 
and heart. Those who came prior to 1849 were hardy 
men who followed the sun across the continent, search- 
ing- for breadth to their lives, freedom from the limita- 
tions of conditions that on the Eastern shores, and even 
in the then expanding West, tended to crush out the am- 
bitions of men who had begun to feel the splendid pro- 
portions of the land where the Puritan and the Hugue- 
not had laid the foundations of a new order of govern- 
ment and practically a new civilization. The moral 
purpose of the Puritan and Huguenot, — the freedom to 
follow their own consciences, — having been accomplish- 
ed, the restless genius of the new generation sought 
not only for moral liberty but also for freedom to 
grow in the great empire which was then but silent 
spaces, where native tribes divided among themselves 
the land as their hunting grounds. It was the evolu- 
tion of species, the Anglo-Saxon expanding in obedi- 
ence to the strain of his blood. His lungs were big, 
and to fill them full needed a continent, and he took it. 

66 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 67 

The Huguenot was more content with his land, lying 
in the sunny lap of the south, whose romance and 
beauty and plenty lulled him to satisfaction. 

The ceaseless beat of storm for half the year upon 
their dwelling places drove the Puritan's sons out into 
the forests and levels of the West, where he found 
breathing ground but still within the chill of snow and 
ice. There floated to him somehow out of the heavens, 
as if shaken from the wings of migrating birds, the 
story of a land of summer, sunshine, radiance and 
roses, and his sons set forth to find where the sun sank 
to rest over the western rim of the continent. These 
were stalwart, hardy men, restless with the matchless 
genius of their race, — energized but not fevered, for 
they were stern of faith, full of hope and steady in 
nerve. They were like the first drops of rain from 
the clouds preceding the storm, compared with that 
ceaseless current of people that like the flow of a great 
river in the near years were to overflow from the 
whole world to populate and build the new common- 
wealth of the republic, — masterful and brilliant. 
These pioneers builded better than they knew. Sub- 
consciously, doubtless, they had dreams that they were 
a part of manifest destiny, but it takes time for the 
mind to grow to appreciation of large things, 
and so without plan they worked as individuals, not 
as a part of a nation. Out of the silent breadth of 
mountain and valley the pioneer sought grants of do- 
mains, affiliated in life and manners with the race 
among whom he had cast his lot. He modified but 
never lost his close relation to the race whose blood 
ran rich and red in his veins and beat strong in his 



68 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

steady heart. Youth and hope, companion artists, 
painted pictures of an empire of peace and plenty. 
These were large men, coming to possess a large land ; 
their best equipment was the sturdiness that had been 
worked into brain and brawn by the very hardness 
of early conditions. They were not cavaliers seeking 
for new pleasures, rather round-heads ready to force 
open Fate's hands and compel all that belonged to those 
who were self-contained and competent. They were, 
as we have said, obedient to the manifest destiny of the 
race to which they belonged, — the spirit that crossed 
unknown seas in the cabin of the Mayflower, that made 
Plymouth Rock the shrine of those who love liberty, 
in all the world, and that yielded itself in the terrible 
years from 1861 to 1865 to carnage, mutilation and 
death, to give freedom to a despised race with whom 
affiliation is an endless impossibility. They walked 
oftentimes with aimless feet, buried their beloved dead 
in lonely graves, looked forth at noon into stretches 
of burning skies, beheld the sun sink in the waste of 
deserts, wandered confused in the wilderness of doubt 
but ever with quenchless energy pressed on. Many a 
gaunt figure stripped of its robust strength by terrible 
strains lost all but deathless faith, yet stumbled on 
toward the Western shore, sustained by the genius of 
his race, conquering and to conquer ; for he knew that 
"God's in his heaven: all's right with the world." 
The same providential manhood that possest the 
icy shores of New England made its way through des- 
olation to hold the Western shores, the advance guard, 
until the mass could move forward to make populous 
the wilderness, to build cities, create communities, rear 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 69 

homes, establish freedom and hve in the splendid abun- 
dance of matchless California. First the individual, 
strong, clear-brained, pure-hearted; then groups that 
made the loneliness of solitary lives fragrant with com- 
panionshp ; then communities where women sweetened 
the days with their love song, and shout of children 
made melody among the hills and in the valleys. 

The first pioneer was not seeking for wealth. He 
sought empire, was free from the commercial fever 
of these days, when the best in man and the race is 
eaten out by the hunger for dollars, when commerce 
is of more importance than moral gifts, and the lofty 
spirit of our ancestors clouded by temptations to sur- 
pass our neighbors in quantity, rather than in quality 
of possessions. The men who came West were fit for 
the land they sought. They measured up to the glory 
and the beauty; they made history, that is, romance, 
beautiful because noble and generous. The Latin 
possest before the Anglo-Saxon romance which be- 
came the Anglo-Saxon's by adoption and assimilation. 
There was enchantment in the baronial life of the 
Spaniard, and it did not take the Anglo-Saxon 
long to yield to its charm. It made life beauti- 
ful and sweet and winning, but did not weak- 
en his strength. The dominance of the Spaniard in 
religious life did not disturb the stern faith of the Pur- 
itan. With clear visions of the future he built his 
altars within the sound of the matin and vesper bells 
of the Missions, and cast in his lot with the kindly 
Latin, finding companionship among his sons and love 
among his daughters. There came the admixture of 
blood by inevitable marriages, for the virile son of the 



70 LIFE ON THE PACIEIC COAST 

North was as fascinating to the dainty senorita of the 
South, as she was to him. And so, without loss of 
fiber he settled down among the roses and dreamed 
and loved and grew. 

Had there been no discovery of gold resulting in 
the submergence of existing conditions, and the occu- 
pation by cosmopolitan population greedy for gold, the 
history of the Pacific shores would have been slow in 
the writing, but would have been written by poets 
and dreamers ; a new race would have evolved from the 
Latin and the Anglo-Saxon blood; men would have 
lived and wrought inspired by the joy of living; the 
shores of the Pacific would have vied with the ancient 
shores of the Mediterranean in the genius of its people 
and the splendor of their intellectual life. It would have 
by natural attraction become the home of genius and 
beauty and excellence. Here the mind of man would 
have been quickened by noble sceneries, lifted to the 
heights by Shasta and Whitney, and wooed by sunny 
vales under the sun. Every human excellence would 
have been factors of life; it would have become the 
repose of the world, where art, poetry, song and science 
would have been its hosts. That this development would 
have been the logical sequence if California had been 
left to the expansion of its resources, outside of gold, 
is apparent now in the South where men have seized 
upon these larger realities, and have found in sunny 
skies, in orange groves and fields of bloom, the perfect- 
ion .of life. Here the heart-sore, the stricken and the ill 
divide the fragrance and the beauty with the scholar, 
the painter and the poet. Here men are beginning to 
know that "the toiler dies in a day but the dreamer 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 71 

lives alway ;" that homes beautiful are more attractive 
than counting--houses ; that human intercourse is more 
than a pastime ; that the spirit illuminated and purified 
by daily lessons drawn from roses, from orange blos- 
soms and lilies, can find rest from care, turbulence and 
ambition, and men are beginning to learn how great a 
thing it is to be alive when the visible world and the 
uplifted heavens are their companions. 

Men still refer to the character of the pioneer and 
grow eloquent whei^. they speak of those who laid 
the foundations of the young State. The appeal of the 
populace in San Francisco, in the desolate days of 
1906, when they stood in wastes of ashes and despair, 
was to the spirit of the pioneers. To them it was as 
the heart of Bruce flung before them in battle. It was 
to them inspiration to build again a fair city, and they 
have built and are building. Are they building as their 
fathers did. laying its foundations broad and deep in 
civic righteousness? 

As lads, we were familiar with the home life of 
many pioneers of whom we have written. We were 
the playmates of their boys, welcome always to their 
homes. They were scattered throughout the State, 
wherever great stretches of fertile acres had won them 
to settlement. Nathan Combs settled in Napa, where 
in largeness of generosity he lived like a prince. In 
the midst of the pastoral beauty of that perfect valley 
he had chosen a fair domain, and was lord of the 
Manor, large-minded, great-hearted, reaping abun- 
dance and giving out of it with prodigal hands. Gold 
had no alluring power, for while restless thousands 
poured in about him, he "pursued the even tenor of his 



72 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

v/ay," content with life because it was a thing to be 
contented with. The measure of temporal things he 
had accurately taken, and he found no reason to ques- 
tion his measurement. His estate was broad and fine, 
and his ways were "ways of pleasantness and all his 
paths were peace." Men had not been stricken with 
the fever that now consumes them. We were often 
within his gates, a boyish guest, and there still lingers 
in the mind the fascination that made his rancho to 
our youthful outlook more like a dream than a reality. 
We could not quite understand how life could be so 
grand a thing, how a single man without the authority 
of a governor could possess and manage so great an 
estate. We wandered at will over the broad acres 
and wondered at the capacity which had created a 
dwelling place where, in the satisfaction of abundance, 
so many people lived in peace, sheltered and fed by a 
single hand. Had we then known of the feudal system 
and its lords and their retainers, we would have under- 
stood. We did understand later on, and in that en- 
largement of knowledge it all became more and more 
beautiful. He measured heroically every way. His 
horizons were wide apart and it took a long diameter 
to measure between his exterior boundaries. He work- 
ed easily without fret, for he had a steady brain ; a rare 
judgment aided by a fine taste was apparent in the per- 
fection and order. His fields were tilled under best 
conditions, his horses were of noted breeds, his cattle 
of the finest herds, and the products of his fields and 
orchards the best of their kind. He early became a 
noted man. his fame broader than the State. On his 
noble estate he lived a long life, satisfied with its fruits, 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 73 

an example of what content can do to make a human 
life noble. 

In like conditions and estates, in Sonoma, lived Fitch 
and Alexander; in Yolo, the two Wolfskill brothers; 
at Santa Clara, Murphy; at Santa Barbara, Cooper; 
at Los Angeles Wilson, the other Wolfskill brother, 
Workman, Temple and Stearns ; this is not a complete 
list but is ample to fix the type, for they were all of the 
same order of men who were of the royal family, 
tho not born to the purple. When a boy, we knew 
Alexander, the Wolfskills, Wilson and Workman, and 
were comrades of the sons of Fitch. Before California 
passed from territorial days, Fitch himself died. 

Cyrus Alexander, whose grant of three square 
leagues now constitutes the charming valley east of 
Heraldsburg, known as Alexander Valley, in Sonoma 
County, now a populous region, was one of the most 
remarkable of all those who came to California in the 
ancient days. His life was one of adventure, his 
career a history of heroism, and his character a study 
in fine humanities. In i860 we first saw Alexander, 
when the glorious spring was calling out the blossoms 
and the delicate grasses and the leaves of the trees. It 
was at his manor house, where for years he had lived, 
rearing his family of half-castes, for he, like most of the 
early pioneers, had married into a Mexican family. 
From this union there had sprung a family of boys and 
girls in whose form and face were traceable the traits of 
the distinct bloods. These children were shy and silent. 
They inherited this from father and mother, for there 
was about both a quiet dignity; a consciousness of 
rhoral resource: a capacity finding in life the fulness 



74 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

of peace within the spirit rather than in outward cir- 
cumstances. This may in a measure have come from 
the uneventful years, free from noise, beyond the whirl 
of wheels, the rumble of cars and the whistles of loco- 
motives, which in the future ended the pastoral silence, 
and disturbed with the voices of commerce the Sab- 
bath silence and replaced the simplicity of secluded 
life with the energies of a new era. 

To be a guest at Alexander's home was to enjoy 
one's self according to one's own tastes, for, added to 
a wholesome, hearty welcome, there was always an 
invitation to undisturbed freedom to come and go as 
one wished. Simple, unostentatious, charming, was 
the touch of these self-contained lives, that w'ithout art 
or simulation made the stranger within their gates sure 
that so long as he chose to stay, he was not only wel- 
come, but that his presence was regarded as a contri- 
bution to the pleasure of his hosts. We tasted of this 
generosity, for we were under that kindly roof often, 
and in the atmosphere of its freedom learned how per- 
fect was the hospitality that was without limitation. 
Alexander himself was a man of moral genius. 
There was not a common fiber in him anywhere. He 
had not been to the schools where men were taught 
ethics and self-control, but he was by nature qualified 
in these supreme qualities. Were we competent to 
fairly make clear in words his lofty character, we 
would be adding an enticing chapter to literature, 
wherein the virtues of noble men are made the inspira- 
tion of those who read, — those rare records of clean 
men to whom honor was life, justice a thing to be obey- 
ed not feared, whose allegiance to truth was steady 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 75 

as the gravitation of the spheres. Alexander was of 
sturdy stock in which the Pennsylvania Dutchman 
was a little overtopped by the New England Puritan. 
There was strength in both bloods, and in him neither 
was lost, for all that was best in both was welded to- 
gether. His life had been adventuresome, often full of 
deadly perils. When a mere youth he left the quiet an- 
cestral home near Philadelphia, then hardly more than 
a country village, although it had been the center of 
stirring colonial history, and wandered through the 
forests and prairies of the then unpopulated West. 
Stories of the Hudson Bay Company's and Astor's 
success in the Northwest had fired his imagination and 
hope, and he was on his way to the Rocky Mountains 
to find in their wilds a field for his ventursome spirit. 
He had a single companion, and they hunted and 
trapped with varying success, not large enough, how- 
ever, to fill out his dream of life. He crossed now and 
then the trail of the emigrant and learned something, 
though vague, of the great land that skirted the shores 
of the Pacific. 

Oftentimes by the lonely camp-fire, he would dream 
of the great Western land, until he grew restless 
with his uncertain pursuits, and it needed only some 
slight event to drive him on to the shores of the 
Western sea. This event came soon in the loss by 
drowning, in one of the treacherous streams of the 
Rockies, of his partner, and he joined an emigrant 
band and came on to the promised land. Providence 
was with him in this, for in the account of the accident 
as he told us, if he had been a swimmer, he would 
doubtless have been lost also, for, when the canoe was 



76 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

swamped in the currents of the swift rapids, his com- 
rade, a strong swimmer, struck out for the shore, only 
to be caught in the icy whirl and dashed to death, while 
he clung to the overturned canoe until at last, tho 
beaten and bruised, he reached the shore. His sit- 
uation was desperate, for he was alone in a land of 
solitudes and peril. The only human beings near were 
hostile Indians. His Dutch persistence and Puritan 
faith stood him well in hand, and he, without food or 
gun, struck out through the gloom of the forests, along 
rocky cliffs, over desperate mountain heights, in peril 
from wild beasts and wilder men, searching for the 
western trail which, when found, might be but the 
deserted path of trains long since gone beyond his 
reach. He was too strong for defeat, too young for 
despair, and he pressed on with hope, and before many 
days found safety in the camp of the last train of the 
year, and with it came on to California, to find under 
its sunny skies, in the beauty of one of the most de- 
lightful of valleys, home, wife, children and peace. 

Henry Fitch, an Englishman, had, before Alexander 
reached California, secured from the Mexican Govern- 
ment a large grant of land lying on both sides of the 
Russian River, in the territory which is now part of 
Sonoma County. He and Alexander met, and at once 
Alexander took charge of the grant as major domo, it 
being agreed that for three years' service he was to 
receive three square leagues of land lying on the eastern 
bank of the Russian River. In this way Alexander 
became a landed proprietor, owner of a principality, 
where he cast in his lot, lived and died. The increase 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD yy 

in values made him rich. He sold much, gave away 
liberally, but retained much. 

Beautiful as are many of the Coast Range regions 
in wooded hills and intervening valleys, nowhere can 
be found a more lovely spot than was chosen by Alex- 
ander. The eastern horizon is filled with hills that slope 
toward the sky, with woods that color them with the 
lights and shadows so peculiar to the Coast Range. 
On the west flows the river, across which another noble 
line of lesser hills filled in the western sky. Between 
these lies a great park glorified by majestic oaks and 
open spaces, where, before the plowman tore them up, 
fields of wild flowers, dainty in shape and color and 
full of perfume in the springtime and young summer, 
bloomed in the soft airs. In this wilderness of beauty 
and delight great bands of cattle and horses roamed 
at will. In the midst of this glorious place, on a 
commanding mound that jutted out from the eastern 
hills, stood the great adobe manor house, two stories 
in height, nearly two hundred feet in length, and sixty 
feet wide. Around this massive structure ran a wide 
double veranda. It was a noble building, and an 
index to the largeness of its builder. We remem- 
ber that within its walls there were, in addition to a 
vast kitchen, dining hall and family room, forty great 
rooms for guests. This splendid plan gives one some 
idea of how the early pioneers of California looked 
upon life, for what was found upon the Alexander 
Rancho was to be found in the others. Everything 
was big and generous. The hospitality dispensed 
in this home was without ceremony, but had in it the 
spirit of graciousness that made it an experience to be 



78 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

remembered always as a fine expression of man's kind- 
ness to his fellows. Their ordinary daily meals were 
as rich as a baronial feast. The noble Mexican, 
Alexander's wife, who spoke no language but her 
own, seemed to live and move and have her being in 
the storehouse of the kitchen, where she directed her 
servants in the art of perfect cooking, and with her 
own hands prepared for her table, in which she gloried, 
delicacies that would almost tempt a dying man. We 
frequently sat down to these wonderful feasts, won- 
dering always at their perfection and prodigality. It 
was always a colossal culinary masterpiece. The days 
are gone forever, when such noble living shall be a part 
of daily life on the rancho, for this baronial life is now 
a romance of ancient history. 

The foregoing furnishes some insight into the large- 
ness of his home life and habits. Alexander was a 
man in the all-around attributes of true manhood. To 
us as a boy he was a study, for we had not yet become 
used to men of such mold. We remember him as first 
we saw him. He was over sixty years of age, silent 
and of great dignity. His reserve was an attractive 
part of his personality. Tho the vicissitudes of his 
youth had bent his form a little, and cut deep lines 
across his brow, he was still strong and wholesome. 
When standing still, he was like a bronze statue. He 
would at any time attract an artist, be he painter or 
sculptor, for there was in his pose a suggestion of 
power. His face was his most attractive feature, for 
it was the face of a good man who had lived a noble 
life. It was that nobility shining through the stern- 
ness which held the eye of a stranger. It was like the 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 79 

illumination which shines through the windows of a 
great edifice when inner Hghts make its beauty visible 
in the night. It was the light of a serene spirit at 
peace with itself and the world. 

Tho for years he had been in the wilderness and 
afterward beyond the sound of church bells, he had a 
deep and abiding spirituality, that had its root in per- 
fect conviction that the Bible was the word of God, 
who created the heavens above him and the earth be- 
neath. He lived in the atmosphere of this simple faith, 
making no declaration of his beliefs, — just believing 
and living as one who knew his moral obligations, and 
within his lights lived up to them. In later years he 
longed for religious companionship and was liberal in 
his contributions to the church of his faith. In 1858 
he presented to a well-known pioneer minister of his 
church, a noble farm near his home, and for years 
thereafter paid almost his entire yearly salary. He 
built a home for education and worship and dedicated 
it to public use. Here for years on every Sunday 
morning he would be found a silent, devout figure in 
voiceless satisfaction, drinking in what to him were 
indeed words that made clear "the way, the truth and 
the life." He had found by experience that "wis- 
dom's ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths 
are peace," and thus this nobleman, in the quiet and 
content of well-earned possessions, in the "peace that 
passeth all understanding," unswayed by passion or 
ambition, slowly, quietly, strongly, walked down the 
paths of the years, an example of the grandeur of a 
man, able, under conditions that might vVell have 
daunted him. to live a long life unmarred by vice. He 



8o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

died as lie had lived, a silent, strong, faithful man, 
leaving to his wife and children abundant possessions, 
and a memory fragrant with the sweetness of a great 
spirit. A commonwealth made up of a citizenship 
such as Cyrus Alexander would have been mightier 
than Rome in her days of splendor. 

In the orange groves of Wolf skill, at Los Angeles, 
where now are blocks of fine buildings and the rush of 
a busy city's traffic, we played with his boys, while 
nearby, sitting in the cool shade. Lady Wolfskill with 
her needle worked on the finery so dear to the Mexican 
feminine heart. About her was grouped a circle of 
Indian maidens to whom she had taught the skill of 
the needle, and in the Spanish tongue they chatted 
and laughed away the sunny hours. Wolfskill was 
one of the three brothers who had been attracted to 
California in the pioneer days, one to settle on the 
banks of the Los Angeles river, just beyond the pueblo, 
where he planted the vine and the orange, and cast in 
his manhood with his young Mexican bride, to find in 
the beauty of his southern home peaceful days. Mem- 
ory yet sets before us the loveliness of his home, with 
its spacious adobe mansion, its great rooms full of re- 
pose. A fine brood of young ones grew up to man- 
hood and womanhood here, the boys robust with the 
perfection of strength and health, and the girls win- 
ning in the loveliness that the wooing climate gave to 
the southern seiiorita as a heritage. 

Many a glorious day we spent in the vintage time 
among the burdened vines, and when the orange trees 
hung heavy with their golden fruit with no one to say 
us nay or hand to stay us, we enjoyed the free and 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 81 

happy life, careless of the pain, the toil and the terror 
that were in other lives somewhere. No one can know 
now perfect is such an undisturbed life until he has 
had opportunity to become part and parcel of it, — to 
sit down in its security, feel its sweetness, be nour- 
ished by its strength. Others of the same type as 
Wolfskin were part of the population of the country, 
but they had sought for more extended grants and 
were homed on great ranchos, where their herds gave 
them occupation and recompense. Among these were 
Stearns, Workman, Temple and Wilson, — names that 
were honored and whose characters gave a tone to 
social life. They compelled by a living force the re- 
spect and admiration of the people among whom they, 
as young men of a different race, language and faith, 
were neighbors. 

In Yolo County, near where Winters now stands, a 
flourishing village finding its wealth in its famed or- 
chards, the remaining Wolfskill brothers, John and 
Sarshel, settled and built their roof-trees, carving no- 
ble estates out of fertile lands and making the wilder- 
ness blossom as the rose. Their estates joined each 
other. The mood and heart of these men were visible 
also in the largeness of everything about them. There 
was silence and loneliness here where these brothers 
first made their homes, but the serenity of the skies 
above them, the beauty of the hills that lifted just be- 
yond their dwellings on the north, and the radiant 
reaches of the great Sacramento Valley that stretched 
on and on until lost in the far-ofT southern horizon, 
called them to peace as the vesper bells call the devo- 
tee to prayer. They grew under the influence of the 



82 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

physical world about them, and they and theirs became, 
and their descendants remain, noted to this day for 
the quality of their honor. This nobility, like an at- 
mosphere, made fair and gracious the things about 
them. Years after we had been made welcome in the 
orange groves of the brother at Los Angeles, but as 
a boy, we knew these Wolfskill brothers. It is years 
ago, but as yesterday we recall the evening of a heated 
summer day, when up out of the weary miles of a 
tenantless valley, that stretched from the Sacramento 
river to the foothills, we rode into the rancho of John 
Wolfskill. It seemed as if we were in the midst of 
dreams. The contrast between the drear, uninhabited 
spaces through which we had ridden during the weari- 
some hours of the day, and the cool of noble trees, the 
breadth of glorious fields, the fragrant breath of or- 
chards, and the sweetness and perfume of a wilder- 
ness of blossoms about the spacious dwelling rested 
the senses. It was at first too alluring to be fully 
understood. We were not stunned but moved by that 
sort of uncertainty that attends a suddenly awakened 
child in the presence of something he does not recog- 
nize but knows to be beautiful. 

The physical beauty was made exquisite by the 
beauty of hospitality, as we sat down to the evening 
meal. The setting sun was making golden the sum- 
mits of the glorious hills, and filling the place where 
we sat with an overflowing splendor. To a robust and 
unemotional boy this all seemed very good. 

John Wolfskill was true to the type of which we 
have written, and it was always a matter of wonder to 
us that this type was so perfectly preserved in the 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 83 

mass, with such shght modification in the individual 
wherever you might find him. He was easily recog- 
nized. Physically they were like twins ; mentally and 
morally they were kinfolks. The same strain of 
honesty, kindliness and generosity ran through them 
all, as a great river runs through the heart of a con- 
tinent. We can not now recall among the many we 
knew an instance where a single one failed to measure 
up to the very best of human nature. 

We could not close this chapter without some word 
about the brother of John, who lived nearby. This 
was "Uncle Sash" as he was called — just the same 
kind of man. We can not in any way better illustrate 
him and his life than to describe the incidents of a 
beautiful day we spent upon his rancho, for man may 
be measured by his estate. It was during the almond 
harvest, and as we entered the rancho we found 
"Aunt Peggie," the good wife, who was thus affec- 
tionately called by the whole country, because she was 
indeed through her qualities the "aunt" of the country. 
About her was a host of neighbors, young and old, 
sitting under the shade of the trees, shelling almonds, 
and we were invited to become one of the workers, 
which we did. A more delightful day we have never 
known than that spent among that happy crowd of 
almond shellers. Work and laughter, badinage and 
song, were mixed together, and the happy hours flew 
away. We were all grouped under the shade of great 
fig trees, half a century old, and during the mellow 
afternoon shelled and shelled without tiring, in happy 
competition. Aunt Peggie was a fountain of good 
cheer, and her happy heart flowed out over us all. 



84 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

The noontime came, and into the great dining hall 
we trooped, until nearly half a hundred crowded about 
the table. It was such a royal feast as we have de- 
scribed before, — that same delightful welcome, the 
same cheerful hearts, the same atmosphere of content. 
The flock, the herd, the vineyard, the orchard and the 
field, each had contributed to the abundance of the 
table. The first diners having been satisfied, the table 
was again laid and replenished, about which again sat 
down nearly half a hundred. These were the joyous 
lads and lassies, and the great room rang with laugh- 
ter at the sallies of some rustic wit; bright eyes, ten- 
der and merry, drooped, grew soft and shy, as across 
the table some youthful swain "looked love to eyes that 
spake again." A stalled ox, at least a juicy joint of 
him, was a part of the feast, but if he had not been 
there by this proxy, there was not a heart that would 
not have voted quickly that David was inspired when 
he wrote out of his experience centuries ago, "Better 
is a dinner of herbs with love, than a stalled ox and 
hatred therewith." 

After dinner under the trees again the merry almond 
shellers gathered, and some one said ''Why can not we 
have some watermelon?" This was enough for Aunt 
Peggie, and a nod to a nearby employee, a whispered 
order, and within half an hour a monster wagon, 
piled as high as the sides would hold with watermelons 
and muskmelons, drawn by two great mules, arrived, 
and Aunt Peggie, with a merry twinkle in her gentle 
eye, said, "There, dears, you all can have a slice of 
melon." A slice! Hardly! For soon each possest 
a whole melon and was digging out its luscious heart, 



BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 85 

taking only of its daintiest meats. We had become 
somewhat used to the grand way these people had of 
doing the simplest things, but there was something 
touching in the splendid whole-heartedness that could 
not meet even a request for a mere slice of a melon 
without delivering a wagon-load. These simple acts 
were the measurement of the soul of the pioneer, male 
and female. There were giants in those days, but 
they were giants in soul. What immeasurable moral 
distances lie between the simple beauty of lives like 
these, lived in the open, made tender by enriching 
sympathies, the association of kindred souls, loving 
their neighbor because he was human, and God be- 
cause He was divine, — and the reckless lives of mod- 
ern cities, where hate sits down with hate, suspicion 
poisons his brother's cup, scandal stabs its victim with 
a smile, where days are dissipations, and nights Vanity 
Fairs. Esau was not the only man in history who 
has sold his birthright for a mess of pottage, for an 
auction of man's heritage, his nobility and manhood, 
is held daily in every modern city of the world. Truly 
we may conclude by comparison of lives lived in the 
country and the city, that "God made the country but 
man made the town." 



Chapter VII 

SIGHTS AND SOUNDS IN THE GREAT CITY 

^iTiES have a character, as marked as individuals. 
^^ Babylon has for ages borne, in sacred and pro- 
fane history, an unsavory name. Athens was a classic. 
Rome a conqueror. Paris is the synonym for indefin- 
able fascination. The character of the old city of San 
Francisco exhibited noble types of human expression. 
We hope that the present character of San Francisco 
is evanescent and transitional, but he is wise 
above the ordinary who can formulate a creed for 
common use by a majority of her sons and daughters. 
She is neither better nor worse than many a metropo- 
lis, where vice and virtue walk side by side, gowned 
alike and equally dainty. It may be well asked : What 
is our chief pursuit, — business or dissipation? Out 
of the babble of our streets, do we hear the voice of the 
oracle, or the coo of Delilah as she fascinates her 
Samson ? Will Delilah yet rob Samson of his strength, 
shear him of his locks, and deliver him over to his 
enemies ? It might be well for us if, instead of boast- 
ing through trumpets from the housetops that we are 
a pleasure-loving people, more fond of the electric- 
lighted night than the sunlit day, that we grope 
awhile amid the desolation and ashes of famed dead 

86 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 87 

capitals, and learn from the cry of the jackal baying 
to the moon from the broken column of a king's pal- 
ace, that vice is the dry-rot of empire. 

Are we. in politics, business and social life, climb- 
ing or sliding? If we should lift into the night the 
old cry: "Watchman, what of the night?" would we 
surely hear out of the silence : "All is well?" Are se- 
date strangers within our gates imprest with the 
solidity of our public and private life? Are moral 
waste places in our make-up as forlorn as the hill 
slopes left still to broken walls and ashes? Is it true 
that we have no defined character at the present; that 
we have no settled purpose except to revel? The re- 
bound from the shock of April, 1906. may be responsi- 
ble for much that is not satisfying and we may be on 
the swing toward sober thought and action. The 
character of the old city was a known quantity. Cour- 
age, honesty and integrity made strong and fair pub- 
lic and private life. It was no Puritan village, where 
men spoke in subdued voices, and women veiled their 
faces. It was intensely human but clean. Men were 
decent, even in their sins. Nothing could more forci- 
bly illustrate this than the fact that for years the Po- 
lice Court was presided over by the mayor of the city, 
H. P. Coon, a man of great dignity and honor, and 
after him by Samuel Cowles, a distinguished lawyer, 
of winning personality, gracious presence and personal 
charm. He was in form and face a perfect man; the 
poise of an artist's model was in his head and shoul- 
ders, and honesty was the base of his being. In dis- 
cussing Cowles one day, a prominent capitalist of that 
day said, "I hate Cowles, and I would not speak to 



88 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

him on the street, but if he is ahve when I die, my 
Will will disclose the fact that I have made him my 
executor without bonds." Did any man anywhere ever 
have a more beautiful testimonial to his integrity? 

Such were the men who administered justice in the 
Police Court, where now the scum of the earth are 
herded for punishment of low offenses. In the Police 
Court of the old city the character of its magistrates 
radiated from the bench to the courtroom, and order 
made the air wholesome. The docks were clear of 
blear-eyed prisoners, dug up from the moral sewers 
of the city. Offenses were committed, for the punish- 
ment of which the court was maintained, but these 
were in the main of violence, involving often desperate 
moods and passions, but clear of moral turpitude. 
Leading lawyers of the city practised at its Bar, and 
more than once, when a law student, I saw Hall Mc- 
Allister, General James, James A. Zabriskie, Alexan- 
der Campbell, Reuben H. Lloyd, and other lawyers of 
marked attainment, trying cases with as much ear- 
nestness and dignity as they exhibited when arguing 
cases involving millions before the Supreme Court of 
the State. 

Many, perhaps most, of the offenses tried, originated 
in the gambling houses of the town, where violence 
seemed to be a necessary incident to the business, for it 
was a business in those days ; as gambling was not pro- 
hibited by law, and many open houses ran day and 
night, sustained chiefly by the floating population from 
the mines, returning with their purses full of gold, 
homeward bound. Many a poor fellow got no further 
than the EI Dorado, a celebrated gambling-house on 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 89 

the corner of Washington and Kearny streets, next 
door to the City Hall. Here music, beautiful women 
dealing at the tables, refreshments dealt out with lavish 
hand, fascinated men who for long months had, in the 
lonely ravines of the far-off camps, plodded and dug, 
until they had in their buckskin purses what to them 
was a fortune. Visions of home began to be the scen- 
ery of their dreams by night and an ever-present 
thought by day. The wild energy for acquisition mel- 
lowed to a longing for home, and, selling his claim, 
many a miner shipped his dust by Wells Fargo or 
Adams express, and followed it to San Francisco, to 
take the next steamer for the East. He had not seen 
the sights of the city for months ; his companions had 
been men, as busy and lonely as himself, and he found 
the atmosphere of the city sweet. It was a day or two 
before the steamer would leave, and meeting fellows 
like himself, homeward bound, with their piles, they 
formed a little community of sightseers. Night is the 
favorite hour for the prowler the world over, and so 
in the night they wandered from one point of interest 
to another, until the music, the brilliance and the crowd 
of the El Dorado lured them inside. Music intoxica- 
ted their senses, gold piled in stacks of twenties upon 
the tables thrilled their pulses, a glass of champagne, 
cool and tasteful, fired their blood. The winnings of 
some fortunate miner like themselves set forces at 
work, and soon, judgment overruled, submerged and 
fascinated, one bet was m.ade for luck, a second for re- 
venge, and then one after the other for recuperation, 
until in the wee hours of the night, or perhaps just at 
dawn, worn, wild-eyed, haggard, the poor fellow stag- 



90 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

gered to the street dazed with disaster. Such experi- 
ences as these often furnished cases for the PoHce 
Court — acts of violence, not of turpitude. 

Steamer-day, occurring twice a month, was a great 
event. The only route to and from the Eastern States 
was by the Isthmus of Panama. A line of steamers 
plied between these points, connecting at the Isthmus 
with steamers for New York and New Orleans. The 
day before steamer-day was fixt upon by common cus- 
tom as a day for collection of moneys for the drafts 
for the East, and moneys for the purchase of goods 
must go forward by the steamer on the following day. 
This custom grew permanent, and for many years 
after the incoming of the railroad, with its new condi- 
tions, steamer-day was still recognized in collections. 
The arrival and departure of these steamers always 
gathered a crowd, for they were notable excitements 
of the city. There were no wireless telegrams in those 
days, and the incoming of the steamers was watched 
for by messengers who were connected with the Mer- 
chants' Exchange, maintained by the merchants of the 
town for the purpose of getting first news from the 
sea. At a high point, near Fort Point, was main- 
tained a station where a messenger was always on duty 
watching for ships. When a ship was near enough 
for its name to be determined, a messenger upon a 
swift-footed horse was sent into the city to report the 
inocming ship to the Merchants' Exchange. Mer- 
chants and those expecting friends upon steamers, were 
on constant watch at the Exchange, and the moment 
that a messenger reported, the town was alive with ex- 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 91 

citement, and the word went abroad that the steamer 
was coming. 

These steamers carried the only mail and express 
matter that went out or came into California, until 
some years later, Ben Holliday, the great stage man 
of the coast, organized what was known as the "Pony 
Express," which carried letters only across the conti- 
nent, by relays. Only important letters were sent in 
this way, and the postage of such letters was twenty- 
five cents. The Pony Express was a great improve- 
ment upon the slow steamer, which required a month 
from New York to San Francisco. The Pony Ex- 
press made the trip in two weeks. 

The Central Pacific Railroad changed all this. 
The building of the Central Pacific Railroad was a 
matter of great political moment. Great antagonism 
later grew up against the Central Pacific Railroad and 
its kindred roads, but at the time of which we write a 
Pacific railroad was a political question, and no man 
could be elected to Congress or the Senate of the 
United States, who was not pledged to its building. 
The antagonism which grew up against this great 
corporation and its kindred came about by reason of 
the unlawful processes by which their promoters se- 
cured from the Government great subsidies in moneys 
and lands. 

While the people of the city were fond of amuse- 
ments, these were not the engrossing pursuit, but were 
simple reliefs from the strain of business. People had 
fine literary taste, were fond of music, and demanded 
the very best, and for years San Francisco had the 
best, in music and drama. The theaters, while not 



92 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

buildings of any particular size or beauty, were suffi- 
cient for the needs of the day. The old Union Theater 
was on Commercial street, above Kearny. Commercial 
Street to-day is given over to the Chinamen, but in 
those days it was an important street. Here, in 1861, 
I made my first acquaintance with the theater, and saw 
Julia Deane Hayne, then a popular actress, in "Ernest 
Maltravers." The audience was mixed, made up of all 
kinds and conditions, — the man of affairs, with his 
wife, seated beside the rough-garbed miner and his 
companion. There was a democracy of feeling, with 
no divisions by reason of wealth or habit. 

Here "Little Lotta," as she was then known, and 
who afterward gave to the city Lotta's Fountain, was a 
great favorite. She was a young girl, with wonderful 
fascination, with just the mood and temper to catch 
the fancy of miners from the mines. She was always 
attended at the theater by her mother and father. Her 
mother was a sedate matron, but her father was fond 
of the creature comforts, and spent his time during the 
performances in indulgences with his friends. He was 
a "character" in his way, and was quite important be- 
cause he was the father of "Little Lotta." Many 
times have I seen her, after her song and dance, stand 
in a rain of gold flung to her by the enthusiastic 
miners, who were captivated by her charm. 

"Gilbert's Melodeon" was situated on the corner of 
Clay and Kearny Streets, where three beautiful girls 
known as the "Worrill Sisters" held nightly levees. 
They were as popular as Lotta with the miners, and 
with the people generally. This "Melodeon" was a 
clean place, but was frequented by men only. The 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 93 

old "Bella Union," situated on Kearny Street, near 
Washington, was a famous place, but of different char- 
acter. The amusements of this well-known place were 
not as clean as those of the other places of the town, 
and there were times when disorder prevailed. It was 
owned and carried on by an old man and his wife, 
known as "The Tetlows," both of them characters, — 
large of form, rotund of face, and shrewd. None but 
men ever visited the "Bella Union," for some of its 
scenes, while not absolutely vulgar, were along lines 
that would have been rather offensive to women. It 
was a combination of theater and general-entertain- 
ment-house, and it was not a difficult matter for a 
stranger who occupied a box to become acquainted with 
the actresses upon the stage, during the intervals be- 
tween turns. The performers were not of a high type, 
being of that free and easy joviality acceptable to the 
men in those days. 

Here among the vocalists, for several years, was a 
once brilliant, beautiful and still sweet-voiced Italian, 
formerly an operatic star of the world, who, through 
dissipation, had fallen from her high estate. We called 
her "Biscicianti." Often have we seen her, staggering 
upon the stage and leaning for support against a table, 
sing until the air was sweet with music. It was a 
melancholy sight, for beauty and talent had in her 
been drowned in drink. 

On Montgomery Street, near Jackson, was the Met- 
ropolitan Theater. On Sansome Street, between Clay 
and Sacramento, was the old American- Theater, where 
many of the noted actors of that day were found. On 
Washington Street was Maguire's Opera House, a 



94 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

popular place of amusement in its day, where varied 
performances were given, — sometimes legitimate 
drama and at other times vaudeville, although "vaude- 
ville" was an unknown term at that time. Here some 
of the most remarkable characters of the time amused 
the people. Ada Isaacs Menken, a celebrated actress, 
a woman of great beauty of form and face, for many 
months performed as "Mazeppa." She was a wonder, 
and crowded the house during these months. The 
principal scene of the play was when she, lasht to the 
back of a supposed wild steed, in fact a beautiful horse 
owned by her, apparently nude and exhibiting a match- 
less symmetry of form, was carried across the stage, 
back and forth, while the audience went wild. She 
was a woman of varied accomplishments, and was the 
author of a book of poems under the title "Infelicia," 
which contained many poems of rare poetic beauty and 
much pathos. 

Here also Alice Kingbury for months played to 
jammed houses "Fanchon, the Cricket." She was a 
delicate little damsel, but was married. It was said 
that her success was due to the fact that she was the 
wife of a young man dying of consumption. They 
had been destitute and stranded in the city. What to 
do they did not know. Finally, she said to her husband 
that she wa-s going to see Tom Maguire, and see if he 
would not give her an opportunity to play "Fanchon," 
which she had committed to memory. She had no 
stage education, was a mere novice, but her love carried 
her through. She won in the tests she was submitted 
to, and was given the opportunity, and upon the first 
night thrilled the audience by her recital of the pathetic 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 95 

little story. It caught the town, and for months she 
filled the theater, and it was said made comparatively 
a fortune. She disappeared and was gone for several 
years and then came back. She was advertised to 
appear at the same theater, and of course everybody, 
remembering the beautiful story and her wonderful 
acting in former years, flocked to see and hear her. It 
was not the "Fanchon," but some more pretentious 
play was presented, and she failed to draw, and then 
and there passed out of theatrical history. The mo- 
tive was gone and with it the genius she had exhibited, 
when she was fighting for bread for her beloved. 
Indeed, love is master of the world. 

Maguire's Opera House was owned and carried on 
by Tom Maguire, a noted man. He was of magnifi- 
cent presence, of great energy and business capacity. 
He was uneducated and depended largely upon his 
brilliant wife for direction in matters which required 
education. He had great ambitions for the drama, and 
it was said spent more than a million dollars in search- 
ing through Europe for the best talent obtainable, 
maintaining agents in various countries hunting for 
new stars. 

At this house we saw McCoppin, the great Falstaff. 
He played a season in San Francisco, then left for 
Australia, and was lost at sea. He was a natural born 
Falstaff, in face and form, and gave to the celebrated 
character a wonderful exposition. The younger 
Keane came out from London, and played "Louis the 
Eleventh," and the "Merchant of Venice." We re- 
member the crowded houses and the intense interest 
connected with this engagement. The younger Keane 



96 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

had much of the elder Keane's genius, was a marvel- 
ous actor, giving to the characters of Louis and the 
Jew great brilliance. 

The Booth family began their career here, and Ed- 
win Booth, altho a young man, exhibited the genius 
which made him an immortal in after years. 

Barrett and McCullough, young men at that time, 
came to Magiiire's to support Edwin Forrest, who 
came from New York under special engagement. 

Well we remember Mrs. Leighton with her laugh- 
ing song. She was a woman of great beauty and 
magnetism, and in her celebrated laughing song con- 
vulsed the house at her will. It was perfectly im- 
possible for any one to resist the melodious laugh 
which was the chorus of her song. 

Lady Don, beautiful English Lady of quality, from 
Australia, played a season at this house, with great 
acceptability. One of the actors who was here con- 
stantly engaged was Harry Coutaine, a young Irish- 
man of handsome presence, great versatility, and mag- 
nificent face. When he was sober enough, he was very 
popular, but this was not very often. He was a vic- 
tim of the drink^ habit, and it was impossible for him- 
self or friends to break him of it. His wife, a devoted 
woman, endeavored for years to win him from his dis- 
sipations, but she was unable to do so and finally was 
compelled, in self-defense, to leave him to his fate. We 
saw him often during those years, on the streets, rag- 
ged, foul and drunken — a creature to be avoided. 

The "Metropolitan" was the staid house of the 
town, where the operas were generally given, although 
it was frequently occupied by stars and lecturers of 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 97 

fame. Here we saw Boucicault, during a three months' 
engagement, when he played his own productions, — 
"Arrah Na Pogue" and "Colleen Bawn," — to crowded 
houses. George Francis Train, for a couple of weeks 
amused the people, and Artemus Ward, with his won- 
derfully pure wit, was a leading attraction at one 
time. One thing is to be said in favor of the old town 
that can not be said in favor of the new, and that is, 
that the best of operas were given at the popular prices. 
A dollar and a half for a reserved seat was the highest 
price asked at the old "Metropolitan," for the best 
opera rendered by such artists as Pareppa Rosa, 
Bambillia, Sconcia and like known stars. 

One of the principal places of amusement of the 
city was the Minstrel Theater, at 330 Pine Street, 
where Billie Birch, Ben Cotton, Sam Wells, Dave 
Wambold, Charlie Backus and Johnny De Angelis 
constituted the main features of the San Francisco 
Minstrels, a big band which was popular in San Fran- 
cisco, and popular in New York after they went there. 
Poor Sam Wells was a great minstrel and a genial soul, 
who came to a tragic end by accident, in Virginia City. 

We had our restaurants in those days, not like those 
we have now, but offering to the gourmet the best that 
was afforded not only by California, but by the world 
itself. The principal restaurant, frequented by ladies, 
was Peter Job's, on Washington Street, opposite Ports- 
mouth Square, where for fair prices the best could be 
had. There was no adornment in the restaurant itself, 
but the food was the best; the service excellent, and 
here the ladies of the town were accustomed to gather 
during the afternoons for refreshments. The present 



98 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

after-theater custom was not in vogue in those days. 
People Hved at home ; dined at home, except when they 
were on an afternoon outing. Peter Job was an irasci- 
ble Frenchman, in constant bad humor, but an excellent 
caterer. 

The old "Poodle Dog" was in existence on Dupont 
Street, near Clay. It was at that time a French Rotis- 
serie. We did not then have grills and cafes. The 
"Poodle Dog" was kept by an old Frenchwoman, fat 
and unattractive, but a great purveyor of good things 
to eat. She had a dirty-haired poodle dog, of which 
she was very fond, — her constant companion, — and 
the name of the restaurant was derived from this dog. 
Miners when coming to town, discussing where they 
should have their dinner, would say, one to the other, 
"Oh, let's go up to the Poodle Dog," and thus the 
name was fixt. 

There was a class of restaurants that we do not have 
now, known as the "Three for Two," — that is, three 
dishes for two bits, or twenty-five cents. They made 
no pretentions whatever to style, but supplied to their 
customers good, substantial food, well cooked, and 
fairly served, and for the floating population of the 
town these were the best, for they were democratic. 
The chief of these were the "New York Bakery" on 
Kearny Street, near Clay, and the "United States Res- 
taurant," on Clay Street, below Montgomery. There 
was one in earlier times called "The Clipper" restaur- 
ant, on Washington Street, which extended from 
Washington to Jackson, and was so large that meals 
were served from the kitchen on a little railway, upon 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 99 

which the food was transmitted from the stove to 
the guest. 

The Coffee Houses of those days were celebrated, 
altho they were mere "holes in the wall" in the 
water-front principally, kept by foreigners. They 
were the rudest kind of eating places, but the coffee 
served was of the finest, and gave them great reputa- 
tion. On Merchant Street, near the Montgomery Block, 
a little "hole in the wall" was kept by three Swiss 
brothers, under the name of "Jury Brothers." This 
was a favorite place for lawyers, judges and profes- 
sional men. It was across the street from the well- 
known Clay Street Market, where everything good to 
eat was to be had, and from this market the "hole in 
the wall" found its provender. At Jury's a man 
could reserve a table, walk over to the market, choose 
his own food, return to the restaurant with the same 
in his arms, and have it cooked to his order, paying 
only for the service. Oftentimes have I seen Alexan- 
der Campbell, Milton Andros, George Sharp, Judge 
Dwinnelle, and other well-known lawyers and judges 
dining at this little place. Campbell was the caterer 
for the crowd, and he would go over to the market 
and order from the stalls what to his taste would seem 
good — a feast for a king. He would return, followed 
by one of the market men, into the kitchen, and all 
was delivered to the cook. While the dinner was cook- 
ing, they discust the fine wines kept by the Jury 
Brothers ; and when the dinner was served, here, from 
six along till nearly midnight, these lovers of good 
things would enjoy themselves to the limit. Those 
dinners were almost daily occurrences. 



loo LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

The city had a saloon life, as now. Some of the sa- 
loons were historical places, and no history of Califor- 
nia or of San Francisco could be written that did not 
include some mention of them. In the corner of the 
Montgomery Block, at Washington Street, was the 
old *'Bank Exchange," kept by the Parkers. One of 
the adornments of this saloon was a ten-thousand-dol- 
lar picture of Samson and Delilah, which splendid 
painting was spoiled by an anachronism, — a pair of 
Sheffield shears dropt in a corner of the room by De- 
lilah after having sheared Samson of his locks. This 
old picture was destroyed by the fire of 1906. 

Barry and Patton, two distinguished looking men, 
both scholars and gentlemen in the highest sense of the 
term, kept what was known as "Barry & Patton's," on 
Montgomery Street. Here might be found the litera- 
ture of the world; books to gratify the taste of the 
most exacting scholar. There was no disorder in these 
places. Everything was done decently, and with the 
highest regard for good conduct. 

Billy Craig, an erratic old Scotchman, for years kept 
a wholesale and retail liquor house at the corner of 
Washington and Dupont Streets. His whiskys and 
other liquors were of the best, for he was a connois- 
seur. Here, for years, he was the celebrated dispenser 
of "Hot Scotches" to the leading men of the town. It 
was the custom of those who liked such things, at least 
once during the evening to call on Billy for something 
good, especially some of his wonderful "Hot Scotches." 

Billy Blossom, a well-known and beloved old chap, 
kept a first-class place on California Street, below San- 
some, where he dealt out the very best the world af- 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY loi 

forded, and in addition thereto he gave his customers 
at noon a splendid repast. This was a popular place 
among the merchants, often at noontime crowded to 
suffocation. 

Garibaldi, a relative of the celebrated liberator of 
Italy, for many years kept a saloon on Leidesdorff 
Street, near Sacramento. This was also a popular 
place, for he dispensed rare punches, for which he had 
the formula, and which he concocted personally. They 
were delicious, and a couple of them would make a 
man dream dreams or write poetry, if he had any 
poetic sense. 

The hotels were sufficient for the needs of the day, 
but had nothing of the magnificence of our day. They 
had no grill attachments. Everything was table d'hote, 
and one who wanted a meal had to be on time, for the 
dining-room door opened and shut at fixt hours. 

The principal hotel was the "International," which 
for many years stood as the first-class hotel of the town, 
on Jackson Street, near Kearny. Here many of the 
distinguished men of the State made their homes. 
The proprietor was "Old Man Weygant," who be- 
came known to almost every leading man in California 
by reason of his eccentric and kindly character. He 
was a natural born hotel man, and lived and died in 
this work. 

A place, perhaps never duplicated in the world, was 
Woodward's "What Cheer House," on Sacramento 
and Leidesdorff Streets. This was a hotel for men 
only; no woman was ever seen on the premises. It 
was managed by R. B. Woodward, who made a great 
fortune there, and his management was along peculiar 



102 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

lines. The main hotel was at the point stated, while 
the upper floors of many adjacent houses were occupied 
as annexes. The rooms were plainly furnished, but 
were scrupulousl}'' clean. Complete changes were 
made every day in the rooms. This was the favorite 
home of the miner and the farmer. Of course, there 
were but few farmers, but they knew and availed 
themselves of the comforts of the "What Cheer 
House." It was the first house in San Francisco run 
upon the European plan. A large restaurant was con- 
nected with the main house, where the guests could 
take their meals, or not, just as suited their whim. 
Here a meal from ten cents to ten dollars could be ob- 
tained, according to the purse and appetite of the guest. 
A fine museum was a part of the establishment, and a 
splendid library, free to all the town, for nobody was 
ever turned away from the "What Cheer House," 
whether guest or not. A free bootblack stand was 
maintained, where every one could black his own 
boots without charge. In the library could be found 
men who were literary men, and actors beginning to be 
known and who afterwards became famous, not only 
in California but throughout t*he world. Here have 
I seen bending over some book Mark Twain and Bret 
Harte, and others of lesser fame, together with 
judges, doctors and lawyers. This was the only free 
library in San Francisco at that time. 

Woodward had the catering instinct in a large de- 
gree, and after the growth of the town bought "The 
Willows," a little entertainment place at the Mission, 
which he transformed into the famed "Woodward 
Gardens" that for many years was the only place where 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 103 

the poor of San Francisco could find amusement. All 
these places have passed into history. 

The Mission at this time was a separate settlement, 
altho a part of the municipality. It was reached 
in the earlier times only by a planked road running 
along what now constitutes Mission Street. This 
was a toll road and led across the marsh lands which 
covered this portion of the town, and was the creation 
of that underflow which comes from the hill slopes 
lying to the northwest of where is now the City Hall. 
The underflow referred to caused the discussion over 
the site of the present postofiice, for about the corner of 
Seventh and Mission Streets was a creek, crossed by a 
bridge. A stream of water flowed out into the levels 
lying between this point and South Beach, until it 
formed a morass, which required in after years filling 
up from the sandhills before it could be used for build- 
ing purposes. This toll road was a matter of profit 
to the owners, and the only means of communication 
with the Mission; later, however, the sandhills of 
Market Street were cut through, Valencia Street 
opened and a regular standard gauge railroad built 
and run out, from where Lotta's Fountain stands, 
through Market and Valencia Streets, to the Mission. 
The beautiful Golden Gate Park was then unknown, 
but people began to enjoy the beach and a toll road was 
built out as an extension of Geary Street, the sand 
dunes were leveled, and macadam made a fine road- 
way. This became popular, and on afternoons, after 
business hours, here could be seen the best of our peo- 
ple, driving teams, racing like the wind. It was often 
said that the money represented by the horse-flesh that 



104 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

was owned by our citizens at that time mounted into 
the millions. 

Oakland was a terra incognita, and but few people 
ever thought of going there for pleasure. There was 
no continuous ferry service between the places, only 
at intervals little, dirty boats carried people up the 
creek and landed them at what was known then as 
San Antonio. There were no inducements for the 
pleasure seeker, and business was the only thing that 
called a San Francisco man to Oakland. 

There were certain sections of San Francisco, as 
now, celebrated, and the most celebrated street was 
Montgomery Street, from Market Street northward. 
It had two sides, facetiously called the "dollar" side 
and the "ten cent" side. The dollar side was on the 
west, and here, day and night, could be seen a 
promenade of the aristocrats of the town, for this was 
their parade ground. 

Kearny Street was a second class street, not so 
wide as now, a narrow, dirty street, given over to all 
classes, and by its dirt and squalor unattractive to 
the eye. Dupont Street, now Grant Avenue, was also 
a narrower street than now, and was given over to 
small trades, low saloons, and at certain northern 
points to the "red light." 

Washington Street, from Stockton, was the prin- 
cipal street used by the better classes for going and 
coming from the residential to the business parts of 
the town. It was a clean, well composed street, upon 
which were situated many of the retail stores, and 
here was the celebrated Job's restaurant. 

The Chinaman, as his numbers began to increase, 



1 SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 105 

fixt his eye on that portion of the town which in- 
cluded Washington Street, and a slow but sure occu- 
pation began. His plan was to commence at a corner 
and work round a block, which he did with great 
success, until Chinatown now constitutes the section 
which could be said to have its center at Washington 
and Dupont Streets, with a radius reaching on the 
east to Kearny and on the west to Stockton Street. 
Two leading churches of the town, the First Baptist 
on Washington, and the First Presbyterian on Stock- 
ton Street, were taken in by this encroachment, and 
I believe before the fire they had both been converted 
into Chinese lodging houses. 

North Beach and Meigg's Wharf were important 
points at that time. They were places where the popu- 
lation went for fresh air from the sea, and here could 
be seen at any hour of the day groups of the best 
people, strangers and citizens. Meigg's Wharf was 
the depot for the fisherman, where he fitted out for 
the deep sea fishing, and to which he brought his 
harvest. Crab fishing in those days was a great pur- 
suit, and here in the early morning could be found 
piles of crabs, ready for distribution to the markets. 
The wharf was built by Harry Meiggs, who was at 
that time a noted, active and honored citizen, but who 
fell into bad ways and fled the country finally, to show 
up in Peru, where he became, by reason of his genius, 
a prominent character, building a railroad into the 
Andes, and assisting in developing the resources of 
that wonderful country. He had a hunger for the old 
town and for the State, and endeavored more than 
once to come home, by offering to pay all that he owed 



io6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

through his follies and crimes, on condition that the 
edict of banishment be removed, but the State would 
not consent to dismiss the indictments. He finally died 
an outlaw, so far as California was concerned, in far- 
off Peru. Of a truth "the Vv^ay of the transgressor is 
hard." 

At North Beach, just at the beginning of Meigg's 
Wharf, was situated one of the curiosities of the 
town, a place of enticement to the crowds from the 
country who were searching for points of interest in 
the city. It was an old tumble-down saloon, connected 
with which was a museum and menagerie. The mu- 
seum was filled with all sorts of curious and rare 
things, some of great value, and was the object of in- 
tense interest and examination by people who fre- 
quented Meigg's Wharf, more particularly to the 
countrymen, who found this one of the most interest- 
ing places in the city. 

West of Meigg's Wharf, between it and what is now 
Fort Mason, were a number of bath-houses, where the 
people of the city took their sea-water baths. From 
six to nine o'clock in the morning hundreds battled 
with the cold waters of the ocean. It was exhilarat- 
ing sport. The waters coming in from the sea through 
the Golden Gate were cold, but this did not deter the 
energetic swimmers from tackling them in the early 
morning. It was here that Ralston, the great banker, 
lost his life on the afternoon following the historic 
failure of the Bank of California. Before this time 
he was frequently seen here in the early morning, en- 
joying to the utmost the vigorous swimming in the 
sea. 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 107 

A history of the city would not be complete with- 
out some reference to the Long Wharf. Commercial 
Street, although now an unimportant side street, de- 
voted to commission and produce houses, was in those 
days the principal street of the city leading to the 
water-front. From the water line had been built out 
into the bay a long wharf, and that was the name given 
it. The life on this street and wharf was full of 
curious sights, for they were constantly crowded with 
all kinds of people engaged in all kinds of pursuits, 
with straggling crowds who found here many kinds of 
divertisement. Cheap John auction shops, old clothes 
stores, gambling houses, saloons and second-class 
hotels constituted the business places of the street. 
The auction stores were usually full of people, lured 
in by the loud voice and wit of the auctioneer. Plated 
gold watches and flashy cheap jewelry were sold "for 
a song" — not always for a "song," for some Rube 
from the country, imprest by the statements of the 
auctioneer, would be induced to pay four times the 
value of the article sold. The auctioneer was always 
a character, rude and vulgar generally, but full of 
wit, and able to attract and hold a crowd. 

In one of the gambling-houses was for many years, 
as an attraction, a remarkable Liliputian, called by 
everybody "Auntie." She was not a dwarf, but was 
well-formed — a dainty little negro — full of kindliness 
and cheer. Many a man was drawn into the house to 
see "Auntie," for she was a fine conversationalist, 
and full of ready knowledge and wit. Of the casual 
visitors, many a man remained to spend his money 
at the gaming table. 



io8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Another of the attractions of the water-front was 
the landing place of the Sacramento and Stockton 
steamers, the only means of transportation between 
these cities being by the Sacramento and San Joaquin 
Rivers. The steamers were built for comfort and 
speed. Every afternoon, at four o'clock, Jackson 
Street wharf was crowded, not only with those about 
to embark, but with their friends and the usual sight- 
searching crowd. The incoming and outgoing of 
these steamers were always matters of the intensest 
interest. There frequently arose great competition 
between river steamboat lines, and several tragedies 
grew out of this competition, by collisions on the rivers 
caused by intent or recklessness of the captains. 

Benicia, on the Straits of Carquinez, at one time the 
capital of the State, was the first landing-place. At 
that time it was quite an important station for the rea- 
son that many of the best citizens of the Sate, during 
the "Capital" days, had settled here, with their fami- 
lies, and became attached to the town, and made it 
their dwelling place even after the incoming of the 
railroad and the consequent change of conditions. 
Here were situated military barracks, which may 
yet be seen by the traveler on the railroad to Sacra- 
mento. "Uncle Sam" is still in possession, but so far 
as their occupation is concerned, they have become un- 
important except as a storing place for ordnance. 

There were some unique characters in San Fran- 
cisco, known to everybody. Among these was "Em- 
peror Norton," an insane old Frenchman, who im- 
agined himself to be the Emperor of the World. He 
had been, during previous years, a man of affairs as 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 109 

a merchant. He was a man of vast experience, with 
courtly manners and great kindness of spirit. He 
was seen upon the streets constantly, and was a great 
frequenter of the theaters and churches. Altho of 
disordered mind, he was mild-tempered, and a friend 
to every one he met. He had been a member of a 
Masonic Lodge, and on account of this affiliation he 
was taken care of by the Masons. He had carte 
blanche to all places of amusement, and to many of the 
eating places of the town. Everybody knew and 
liked "Emperor Norton." He was always drest in 
military garb, which he obtained from the officers at 
the Presidio, who gave to him from time to time 
their uniforms that had passed beyond their own 
use. When he wanted money, which was not so very 
often, he would issue his "bonds," and these he would 
sell to the people he met at fifty cents apiece, redeem- 
able some years off, at double their face value. For 
many years he was a well known figure, but finally 
disappeared, we suppose, to the Great Unknown. 

Another peculiar character was "Uncle Billy 
Coombes," who was also of disordered mind, imagin- 
ing himself to be George Washington. He evidently 
had some means, for he was never known to apply 
for any privilege or charity. His parade ground was 
Montgomery Street, on the western or "dollar" side, 
where on almost any pleasant afternoon he would be 
seen strutting up and down, from block to block, 
garbed in a Continental uniform, spotlessly clean, 
and made out of finely tanned buckskin. In face he 
was very much like the portraits of Benjamin Frank- 
lin. He was, in form and feature, a perfect "Conti- 



no LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

nental." A great jealousy existed between him and 
Emperor Norton. Norton did not recognize the right 
of any other aspirant to public favor, to parade upon 
the streets of the city. On many occasions they met 
and theirs was a physical collision, and the police 
were on constant watch, to prevent them from doing 
each other serious harm. 

Another well known figure on the streets was an old 
Frenchman, a miserable specimen of humanity, seedy 
and decrepit, who crawled through the streets, gather- 
ing out of the waste barrels of restaurants and in the 
slums of the street the food which sustained his poor 
life. He was an abject sight, unclean and wretched, 
and his nicknames indicated this, for he was called 
"Old Misery, The Gutter Snipe." Many a time have 
I seen him gathering up the refuse from the street, 
but I never saw him speak to a human being. Where 
he lived, no one ever knew. He appeared like a bird 
of prey in the morning, and disappeared from sight 
about noon. From whence he came and where he 
went, no one knew. 

Another character, who frequented Kearny Street, 
during parade hours, was a man who was never seen 
to converse with anybody, never paying any attention 
to any one or anything but himself. He was fault- 
lessly drest at all times, and appeared to have an 
unlimited wardrobe. His clothes were of the finest 
material, and he seldom wore the same suit more 
than two or three times. He was referred to as the 
"Great Unknown." What he did for a living, where 
he lived, or who he was, was never discovered. It 
was surmised that he was a lay figure of th^ tailors of 



SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY iii 

the town, on account of his constant change and the 
fineness of his apparel. He also, after several years, 
disappeared. 

Two other well known and remarkable characters 
were not human. Two mongrel dogs made their head- 
quarters at the corner of Merchant and Montgomery 
Streets, around the old Blue Wing saloon. Here for 
years they were found every day, always together, 
and there existed between them a relationship beauti- 
ful, altho it was a mere animal affection. "Bummer" 
and "Lazarus" were known to all the people of the 
city, and were the subject of frequent mention in 
the Press. They had no trouble to find support, for 
they were kindly in disposition, attended to their own 
business, and by reason of their peculiar relation to 
each other, made friends, and these friends always 
saw to it that "Bummer' and "Lazarus' had their 
daily food. 

We had a remarkable artist, who had much of the 
genius of Nast, the celebrated artist of the War, whose 
caricature of Tweed in "Harper's Weekly" led to 
Tweed's arrest in Spain at the hands of a little Spanish 
constable, in a far-off and remote village in the Pyren- 
nees. It was said that Tweed, by reason of his person- 
ality, had made himself noted in the little Pyrennean 
village, and attracted the attention of the local con- 
stable. Finally there drifted into the hands of the little 
constable Harper's magazine. He immediately recog- 
nized Tweed and began to make inquiries, and finally 
telegraphed to New York, asking if this man was 
wanted, and this led to the arrest and return of Tweed 



112 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

to New York, and his trial and conviction and death 
in Sing Sing prison. 

Onr artist had much of this talent for keeping in his 
caricatures the face and personality of his subject. 
His face work was as perfect as Nast's, but his art 
was not as fine. He was a rapid artist, and was fond 
of grouping into his caricatures numbers of the best 
known people, were they politicians, merchants, actors 
or professional men. Before the fire, many of these 
caricatures could be found in old saloons, but they have 
all disappeared in ashes and smoke. In these carica- 
tures one acquainted with the old city and with the 
public characters, or the well known men of the day, 
was able without effort to pick out the persons repre- 
sented in the group. The legislature was a favorite 
place for his work, and members of the legislature 
were grouped together in some of these historic cari- 
catures. 



Chapter VIII 

SOME OLD NEWSPAPERS AND THEIR 
GREAT EDITORS 

T jAS the Union come?" This phrase was at one 
^-^ time in California the most frequently uttered 
of all phrases in the English tongue. It was at the 
week's end on the lips of farmers, miners and home- 
folks, and meant had the Weekly Sacramento Union 
come. At that time the Union was published at 
Sacramento and was a great newspaper, full of news 
from all parts of the civilized world, and with full 
narratives of local incidents. It contained also wis- 
dom, literature, poetry, science and religion, to quicken 
and satisfy the cravings of the multitude for educa- 
tion, advice and culture. It was a great journal in 
the hands of great men, and to it the people looked for 
information and guidance. Its daily issue was limited 
to the cities that could be reached on the day of its 
issuance. The Weekly covered the entire coast, and 
was to be found in the farmhouse, the country hotel, 
the village home and the camp of the cattleman and 
the miner. A man could not in those days travel far 
enough on the coast to be beyond the territory where 
this paper was not a welcome visitor, a trusted coun- 
ts 



114 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

seller, wise teacher and familiar friend. It was a 
stalwart in all things. It had views upon all living 
questions and gave to them vigorous expression with- 
out fear or favor. As an educational force it had no 
equal in the State, either then or since. Its pro- 
prietors were men to whom the Press was a trust; 
commercialism had no part in its creation or life. Its 
columns were not open to purchase. It stood, as all 
papers should stand, for worthy things, the things 
that counted for righteousness in political, social and 
commercial life. Its editors were men of lofty ideals, 
great erudition, extended experience, with great gifts 
as writers. They worked from love of their craft, 
and thought and wrote upon all questions that entered 
into the warp and woof of life. Local news was gath- 
ered from all accessible territory, and cast into shape 
in the columns of the Union. Masters of the art saw 
that no waste of words padded long-drawn out col- 
umns ; clear, clean-cut facts made up its news items. 

Upson, Seabaugh and Weeks, three wonderful men 
in the newspaper world, worked together with the ease 
of well-oiled machinery in the news and editorial col- 
umns, giving out of their disciplined and equipped 
minds, during the very noon of its existence, the great- 
est newspaper the Pacific Coast has ever had, and 
giving to it rank and place among the great journals 
of the world. The Union was no mere business 
concern, altho by reason of its vast circulation, it was 
of profit to its owners. It recognized and executed 
a great mission, that of leading and inspiring a people 
building a new commonwealth. With clean lips they 
proclaimed the truth, and with clear hands adminis- 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 115 

tered its affairs. The Union worked to create popu- 
lar opinion, to exalt virtue, to drive vice into the ditch, 
and to lift the hopes of the multitude to the higher 
levels of noble thought and living. It stood behind 
public men only when they were worthy, upheld public 
measures only when they were righetous. It avoided, 
as far as possible, the purely personal attack; wielded 
the battle-ax or the bludgeon against men only when 
it became a necessity in behalf of the common 
good. Sin it crucified with pitiless vigor, the sinner 
it left to the correction of his own conscience. He 
was a strong man and it was a rugged group of men 
who could long withstand the bombardment of the 
Union against any of his or their schemes for public 
plunder. Gain had no part in its discussion of men or 
measures. Its attacks were made from principle, and 
like all attacks so made, were to the death. Steady, 
disciplined, unyielding, its influence was thrown against 
a wrong with the quenchless valor of an English 
Squire on the field of battle. It won its victories for 
the people by the tremendous gravitation of a steady, 
moral pressure. This high character was maintained 
until the death of some, and the removal of others, 
of its guiding spirits left it the prey of designing 
interests; and by change of ownership and policy it, at 
last, slowly but surely, in later years, declined from its 
high estate. 

From out of. the shadows of the past let us recall 
its great spirits, whose worth and genius were as 
much a part of the paper in its day of power as was 
the ink and paper upon which it was printed : First, the 
slow-motioned, taciturn Weeks, who with tireless 



ri6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

energy gathered facts and made local history, who 
molded simple news items with unerring skill into 
the force of epigrammatic statements. He had no 
superior in this department. His instinct for news 
was like unto the instinct of a hunting dog for a bird. 
News flowed to him by a sort of magnetic attraction. 
Men brought to him items of interest with the same 
impulse that moves them to bring to the scientist rare 
specimens of rock or fish or bird. He was a master 
of orderly arrangement and subconsciously grouped 
into attractive shape the history of the day. He lived 
and moved and breathed in his work. The columns 
of his paper were all of the world he cared to know. 
If he dreamed any dreams, none were the wiser ; for of 
silent men he was the most silent. For years he 
came to and went from his desk as regularly as the 
sun comes and goes in the sky. He was a kindly 
soul, but withdrew from the common association of 
his fellows and had the rare faculty of great men to 
find in self-communion sufficient for inspiration and 
solace. The business office of the Union was to 
him holy ground, and no devotee at a religious shrine 
ever yielded more of reverence than did he to the ob- 
ject of his endless work. He died an old man, in the 
service of his paper, to which he had lovingly given 
his best years and work. How could a paper fail to 
be great, that had among its workers such as he, 
pouring into it the choicest of a devoted life! 

Upson, the managing editor, was a gracious figure, 
full of spirit and charm. He was tempered as finely 
as a Damascus blade, winning and sweet in manner. 
The term "gentlemen" described him accurately. 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 117 

Suavitcr in modo, fortiter in re was perhaps his distin- 
guishing characteristic, for to a persuasive gentleness 
there was added the inflexibihty of steel. He gravi- 
tated toward high ideals, and once fixt in the cer- 
tainty of what was right, he was immovable. He 
combined in rare measure the man of affairs and the 
dreamer. His visions were clear outlines of truth, and 
to a faculty of profound reasoning was added an im- 
agination active and brilliant. His mind was framed 
by the highest culture and stored with the wisdom of 
the ancient and modern world; his range of learning 
was from the centers to the horizons ; a compre- 
hensive, aggressive intuition, opened a vast field of 
accurate detail. He seemed subconsciously to arrive 
at the exact truth. Like an eagle from the sky he 
surveyed situations in atmospheres free of mist and 
cloud, and like the eagle also he swept in great circles 
of endeavor. Aggressive, incisive, direct, was all of 
his editorial work. When any important public move- 
ment was on foot, men waited for Upson's editorials 
to make sure of the road as a guide to them for action. 
He was at once forceful and reliable, reasonable and 
faithful. Men trusted his wisdom and his honor. As 
a controlling factor of the Union's forces his busi- 
ness instinct was unerring. His policies were based 
on established principles and an obedience to a set- 
tled purpose. This was the mainspring of the in- 
tellectual and commercial machinery of the great jour- 
nal. It was fit in every way on the Western fringe 
of our country to rank with the New York Tribune, 
the Times, the Sun and the Springfield Republican. 
While not the equal of Upson in many respects, 



ii8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Seabaiigh as an editorial writer was his superior. 
In fact, in his special department Se^batigh had 
no superior during his prime, in California, or in 
any other State. In spite of habits which would 
have sapped the faculties of a smaller man and clouded 
his vision, Seabaugh to the day of his death remained 
the most brilliant newspaper man in the State. He 
was born, not made, and his instincts for the highest 
work were as sure as the instinct of an eagle for the 
sky. A recent writer has made the statement that in- 
tellectual women are ugly, giving notable examples of 
great women whose faces were devoid of personal 
charm. This is not true either physically or psycho- 
logically, so far as gifted men are concerned, for 
many of the noted men of the Pacific were favored 
in perfection of face and form, as they were in the 
fine order of their minds. Among such was Sea- 
baugh. for he was a marked man in any group by his 
splendid physique, and his face as attractive as the 
face of a Greek model. Tall, erect and graceful, he 
stood a perfect specimen of the courtly gentleman and 
refined scholar. Delicacy was in every motion, and 
to all he added an artist's instinct for perfect apparel. 
He was always the clean, well-dressed, attractive man, 
the choice companion of his fellows, and the despair 
of women. 

Just before the Civil War Seabaugh was engaged 
in the editorial work of a country paper in a moun- 
tain town in the Southern mines. He had attracted 
attention by the vigor of his writings, and as the 
issues of the war became more intense by reason of 
the divided sentiment between the men from the North 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 119 

and the South, he was brought to Stockton to edit 
the Independent, then, as now, one of the leading- 
papers of the central portion of the State. There ex- 
isted here at this time a large number of Southerners, 
among whom was the fiery Terry, whose dominant 
spirit and courage had much to do in fostering a spirit 
hostile to the Union, and the war. These men were 
aggressive, and largely controlled the political situa- 
tion. The Union men needed a spokesman with no un- 
certain voice to uphold the loyalty of the masses who 
were true at heart but lacked the capacity of expres- 
sion. Multitudes there were who loved the flag and 
longed for victory, but who shrank from a bold front. 
Social relations had been close between Northern and 
Southern families ; business connections existed be- 
tween neighbors whose hearts were divided over the 
great national struggle; everywhere there was tension 
and strain, the blood was moving hot in the veins, 
the pulse was high, and passions in constant danger of 
outburst. 

The Independent was loyal, but it lacked aggres- 
sive vigor, and Seabaugh was given freedom and told 
to write as he knew how, to write for the maintenance 
of the Union, for a firm conduct of the war at all 
costs, for the freedom of the slaves, if this were found 
to be a war necessity — for a unified country. He 
was unswervingly loyal, he saw clearly the issues, and 
in the columns of the Independent he poured out 
his heart in burning editorials, the best that was in 
him and the best was good. He was the master of a 
diction brilliant, clear and convincing. He had the 
capacity to reason from premises founded upon recog- 



120 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

nized principles to the irresistible conclusion. His 
editorials were clothed in choicest language, eloquent, 
majestic and luminous. He tore sophistries to rags, 
beat down specious reasoning, and built up the faith 
of the people by appeals sweet and winning. He wrote 
as one whose love saved him from weariness, and 
day by day with unceasing fervor, he poured upon the 
country's enemies terrible words of condemnation, 
and as with a trumpet from the heights called the 
faint-hearted to act like men who loved the institu- 
tions of their country and were ready to stand with 
her in her days of trial. To Lincoln and the soldiers 
he extended a great support and sympathy; to all 
measures he gave intellectual and moral strength. He 
quickened the hope and conscience of the people. It 
would be a liberal education in love of country for the 
young men of these days if Seabaugh's editorials in 
the war days were available. To him it was a day 
of inspiration, and he spoke like a seer. The In- 
dependent became in his hands a political power, its 
columns were read everywhere, and men formerly of 
doubtful mind were won to steady allegiance. It was 
a great work, performed with clean heart and hands 
in a great cause, and by it he won a grateful remem- 
brance at the hands of future generations. 

The fame of Seabaugh extended and he became a 
member of the staff of the Sacramento Union in the 
reconstruction days. He was rising now, still in his 
prime; Stockton and the Independent had expanded 
and ripened his genius, and in the new and larger 
field he found a greater constituency. He was more 
than equal to all of these, and he grew in grace. He 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 121 

still gave his best to his country, and in the measures 
of the country's reconstruction found place for whole- 
some advice and suggestion. There was never a weak 
place in his work; all was strong and instructive. It 
must not be understood that he was great only as a 
political writer. He was versatile and of the widest 
range. No question was too deep, no place too ele- 
vated, for his easy reach. He was a ripe scholar, and 
to his editorials brought the riches of a world-wide 
philosophy; of science, political economy, education, 
religion and human experience. He was equally happy 
and at home in all. There seemed to be no limit to 
his capacity, no horizon to his vision. He sang with 
the poets, talked with philosophers in the schools, sug- 
gested new tints to painters, new curves of beauty 
to the sculptors, dreamed sweet dreams with dreamers, 
and laid new sweetness upon the lips of orators. 

After a few years at Sacramento, he came to the 
Chronicle in San Francisco, and became its chief 
editorial writer. The times had become settled and 
there was no call for the intense work of former 
years. The Chronicle had a right to its claim of 
literary excellence, for it had on its stafif a group of 
first-class men. The demand in those days was for 
the editorial column, and no paper held a prominent 
place which did not deal out well-considered, mature 
and well-exprest opinions upon all questons. The 
coarse illustrations, silly pictures, and rot of the pres- 
ent day would not have been possible in the days of 
great journalism in California. Of course, the people, 
not the newspaper, may be said to be to blame. Papers 
publish what the people demand ; they have long ceased 



122 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

to create and compel public thought. They used to 
lead; now they follow. 

Personally, Seabaugh was dignified and reserved, 
with perfect manners and the air of a courtier. He 
was a lover of the good things of the earth, a bon 
vivant, and this taste oftentimes led him into indul- 
gences that in an ordinary man would have been disas- 
trous. They seemed, however, to have no power over 
him and he was always the brilliant writer, no matter 
what his condition. We remember on one occasion, 
as we entered one of the old restaurants of the city, 
we noticed him sitting, asleep, over his soup plate, 
oblivious of the surroundings and dead to the world. 
He so remained for the time that we were taking our 
meal, but just as we were about to leave, he roused 
himself, took a survey of the situation, settled his bill 
and went out. Knowing the wonderful capacity of 
the man, we wondered what would be the morning's 
paper in so far as Seabaugh was a part thereof. We 
looked for something good, for he could never be 
commonplace, but were not prepared, as we unfolded 
the paper on the following morning, for the learned 
disquisition upon an exciting topic then in the public 
mind, requiring in its discussion great care and skill. 
The article was ablaze with logic and illustration, a 
marvel of intellectual achievement. It was an astound- 
ing exhibition of the perfection of his mind and its 
immunity from all disintegrating influences. 

For a time he gave his very best, while in the zenith 
of his powers, to his profession. He was a star of the 
first magnitude, but like a comet blazing with light 
seen for a while in the mid-heavens, he drifted off into 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 123 

the unknown, and we can not at this day recall his 
career after he left the Chronicle's employ. 

Speaking of the Chronicle, we well remember its 
birth and evolution from the Dramatic Chronicle. 
Many years ago, when the old California Theater was 
in its heyday, the De Young boys, Charles, Augustus 
and Michael, then very young, published a little paper 
for free distribution as an advertisement and pro- 
gram for the theater. For many months it was 
published on Montgomery Street, near Clay, distri- 
buted by boys on the street during the daytime, and 
at night handed out in the theater as the program. 
It was a small four-page sheet, but was in addition 
to the theater program full of spicy items, and fre- 
quently had editorial matter of great merit from the 
pens of some of the best known writers of the day — 
and that was the day of good writing. We were in 
those days a law student in the Montgomery Block, 
much given to theater-going, and read the Dramatic 
Chronicle with daily interest. One morning there 
was thrown into the office a copy of the Morning 
Chronicle published by the De Young Brothers. This 
was the surprise of the hour, for its first announce- 
ment was that on account of the unprecedented suc- 
cess of the Dramatic Chronicle, the boys had con- 
cluded, without more ado, to make a try in the more 
pretentious field of journalism. That was the begin- 
ning of its career,. and it became a part of the State's 
economic, political, and social history. 

The history of journalism on the Pacific Slope 
would be incomplete without a reference to The 
Bulletin, and its heroic editor, James King of Wil- 



124 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Ham. He lived a hero and died a martyr. He fear- 
lessly fought for the welfare of the people, for decent 
living, pure administration of law, exact justice, and 
the supremacy, of public morality. Against a horde 
of desperate and brutal men he battled with his might, 
regardless of personal danger. He walked in the pres- 
ence of constant threat, in the shadow of tragedy. 
Assassination dogged his footsteps and yet he did not 
flinch; his dauntless spirit was without fear. He 
recognized the duty of a leading newspaper to the 
community and to that duty he gave full measure. 
The people stood behind him with moral support, and 
in this support he found his solace and consolation. 
The desperate despoilers who preyed upon the city 
felt his power and feared him. He could not be 
bought or intimidated, and he began to be a marked 
man. It was up to the desperadoes to leave, or to 
silence his voice that cried aloud for justice and de- 
cency. In desperation he was assassinated in the 
public streets by a crowd. Like other similar events, 
in other times and places, his fall was a call to arms. 
Suppressed indignation became a flame and an aroused 
people were moved to action by an avenging spirit. 
It was the mood that fired the Nation when its soldiers 
marched to battle singing "John Brown's body lies 
a-mouldering in the grave, but his soul goes marching 
on. 

King's death was terrible, but it was proved to be 
a providence to the city, and for years his martyr- 
dom was a controlling factor in the city government 
and in a perfect municipal rule. Heroism stirs and 
fascinates the human spirit, and his is a mean soul that 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 125 

does not in the presence of the martyr's ashes grow 
warm with yearning for nobler things. No event from 
the outbreak of the war had as deep and widespread 
influence for good as had the untimely, tragic taking- 
off of King, in the prime of his life, by cruel and 
bloody hands. Men saw through their tears their 
duty and did it with determined hands. It brought 
about the reign of morals in public affairs, followed 
by the peace of well administered law. 

The career and work of King can be contrasted but 
not compared with that of tlie editor in these days, 
who looks upon his newspaper as the banker does upon 
his countinghouse, the merchant upon his warehouse, 
and the manufacturer upon his machine-shop — a place 
to make money — his paper a commercial enterprise, 
fearing to offend iniquity in high places, for fear, for- 
sooth, business may be injured. Men are too weak- 
lunged now to blow blasts upon trumpets from the 
housetops to warn a plundered and outraged people. 
It is an easier and more profitable task to lay bare, 
with picture and column, scandals in high life, or de- 
tail the rounds of a prize-fight between a brutal negro 
and a more brutal white man. This is what the people 
want ? Granted ; but it is under a low, public con- 
science permeated by an equally low and possibly lower 
administration of laws governing public morals. The 
newspapers of the city could in a week, by a concert of 
action, firmly carried out, make it impossible to carry 
on amusements in the city and county of San Fran- 
cisco that were detrimental to the morals of its chil- 
dren. There would be fewer nickels in the coffers, of 
course, but there would be a sweeter atmosphere 



126 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

everywhere, and the environment of our school chil- 
dren would be cleaner and safer. In discussing this 
subject recently with a well-known, seasoned news- 
paper man, engaged upon one of the city's leading 
papers, I said : "You are the father of a family of 
growing children; do you allow them free run to the 
columns of your paper?" He looked me in the eye 
for a moment and said "No, to be truthful, I do not." 
Then I remarked "What about the other men's chil- 
dren ?" A shrug of his shoulder and he was off down 
the street. Oh, no, he was not his brother's keeper. 
How easy in the feverish rush for gold it is for us 
to shed our moral responsibility, and to put money 
into our purse — honestly if we can? Will the old 
days ever come back when our papers shall be again 
standard-bearers, crying aloud for order, law and 
decency ? Will they ever again create and uphold high 
standards of moral excellence in human affairs? 

There was a marked literary difference in the papers 
of the early and intermediate years. Various pro- 
fessions and trades had their respective newspapers. 
The Bulletin was the merchants' and professional 
men's paper. The Alfa California represented the 
auctioneer interests. The Morning Call the work- 
ing men and the working women. The Southern 
Democrat had the Daily Examiner, and the literary 
people the Golden Era. The Bulletin was owned 
and conducted by Fitch and Pickering, two active and 
resolute men, who were men of genius in newspaper 
work. They also owned the Call. The Call at 
this time was widely read and abundantly supported 
by the working people. Fred McCrellish, aided by 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 127 

John McComb and Noah Brooks, took care of the 
Alia, and Frank Washington and Phil Roche, under 
the ownership of an old farmer from the San Joaquin, 
W. S. Moss, dealt out in the Examiner the stuff rel- 
ished by the Democrats who hailed from south of the 
Mason and Dixon line. 

We well remember the afternoon when we stood on 
Washington Street of the day of Lincoln's assassina- 
tion, and watched the mob toss into the streets the 
type and press with which the Examiner was 
printed. The Examiner had been shaving close to 
the line of disloyalty to the Union and the Flag, and 
in their hour of frenzy the people worked upon it 
their vengeance. It became wiser and better by the 
experience after its resuscitation, tho Frank Wash- 
ington would once in a while forget the serious after- 
noon and take a fling at the Flag and the Army, both 
then invading the soil of his birthplace. 

During this period there were several minor literary 
ventures supplied chiefly by the effusions of seminary 
girls, and the maiden efforts of youths who were am- 
bitious to try their wings in the literary sky. These, 
of course, had a precarious existence, and came and 
went like the seasons, and about as often. There was, 
however, one steady old publication, the Golden 
Era, that lived for quite a period, and was the one 
outlet for the real literary talent of the coast. It was 
published once a week by G. B. Densmore, a fine 
old chap, and was given to essays, reviews, original 
poems and short stories. It had upon its list of con- 
tributors names that have since become immortal — 
Bret Harte, Mark Twain, Prentice Mulford, Orpheus 



128 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

C. Kerr, Steve Massett or "Jeems Pipes of Pipes- 
ville." Massett did the funny business for the whole. 
It runs through our mind that Ambrose Bierce, once 
in a while, took a fling in its columns, but of this we 
are not quite sure. The matter published in the 
Golden Era was not at all bad, and oftentimes much 
of it was really good — on a par with matter which 
came from the pens of some of its distinguished con- 
tributors in after years. Steve Massett was a quaint, 
easy-going, genial soul, full of good humor and the 
friend of everybody. He was a charming companion, 
with an unfailing flow of fun. For some years he had 
his home on a creek then flowing near the present 
corner of Mission and Seventh Streets, where the 
United States Postofflce now is. Here he lived the 
life of a bachelor Bohemian, in his little shack, which 
he called "Pipesville." He was never lonesome, for 
his geniality acted like a magnet to call his friends 
there, where in perfect freedom they enjoyed the best 
of material things, and the best of Steve as well. We 
remember him as he frequently drifted into the law 
office, where we were a student. He was always wel- 
comed by his old friend the New York lawyer. Here, 
of course, by accident, at the same time would drift 
in the Bohemians of the town, among whom was 
George H. Ensign, the Beau Brummel of the town, the 
organizer of the Spring Valley Water Company. 
Massett and Ensign were great friends, and it was a 
treat to be in the presence of these two, at the same 
time. 

One of the things we miss in these sordid days is 
the close, real friendship that existed between men 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 129 

then. It seems that these relationships have lost their 
savor. Bret Harte was a silent, preoccupied, unap- 
proachable fellow. We never could determine 
whether this was by reason of his temperament or 
of his dreams. At any rate, he never seemed to be 
much of a friend to anybody but himself. Twain was 
of a different stamp. He was the friend of every- 
body, would take a smoke or a "smile" with anybody, 
and was a "Hail-fellow-well-met" at all times. It was 
this quality which at last brought him fame, money 
and long life. Shortly after the time of which we 
write, he drifted to Virginia City, and convulsed the 
Comstock with his witty contributions to the Nevada 
papers. From thence he went to Honolulu, and thence 
across the world with his "Innocents" and became 
focalized in the minds of all who love a laugh. 

Poor Prentice Mulford, philosophic soul, a lonely 
dreamer of sweet things, w^s a welcome presence per- 
sonally and in his writings. He was an occultist, and 
loved the domain of mystery. He belonged to the 
transcendentalists on the one side and to the Puri- 
tans on the other. A rare purity pervaded his writ- 
ings, and he was much read. Later he went East 
and wrote much of things that no man could verify 
except by personal, spiritual experience. His sad and 
mysterious death, while alone in a boat, on the bosom 
of an eastern lake, has made his memory to those who 
knew him best very tender. He was as harmless as 
a child, and of great simplicity; a lovable and gentle 
soul irradiated his life. 

The future, of course, must hold men of intense 
genius and charm; but California will never again 



130 LIFE ON 'THE PACIFIC COAST 

have grouped together so pecuHar and rare a lot of 
literary men, to think and write for very love, as 
did the early Bohemians. The Bohemian of that 
day was genuine. He was as real as the climate ; and 
the so-called limelight Bohemian of the present to the 
early Bohemian is as paste to a diamond. Men were 
Bohemians then because they were so, not because they 
wanted to be so. They were "to the manner born" 
and were hopelessly beyond imitation. 

During the war times, as the war editor of the 
American Flag, an eccentric, reserved but virile 
old Scotchman, D. L. McDonald wrote with his pen 
dipped in vitriol. We recall him now, a slovenly old 
figure, bowed with years or physical infirmity, as he 
shunted in and out of the editorial rooms. He com- 
muned with no one, but took keen notice of everybody, 
and everything about him. He seemed to have no 
associates, was always alone, and worked like a dray- 
horse. During the short life of the Flag in the hot- 
test times of the war, he filled its columns with burn- 
ing stuff. He either had, or simulated, a passionate 
love for the Government. Whether this mood was 
from love for the country or from an intense hatred 
for his opponents, having its foundation in the vin- 
dictive nature of the man, we never were able to de- 
termine. His physical make-up was opposed to all 
softness of spirit. At least this was the outward ex- 
pression of the man. It is difficult to analyze a human 
spirit from the outward shape, but a close touch with 
McDonald for several months gave us the idea that 
love had no part in him. As a literary man he had 
no superior on the coast. Even Seabaugh in his prime 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 131 

did not exceed him in versatile brilliancy. He was 
confined to no specialties but was equally vigorous 
on all subjects. To his enemies he was as merciless 
as a blade. He wielded his pen as the fencer does his 
sword, and cut or thrust with unerring skill at his 
opponent's vital parts. Withering sarcasm, cruel 
criticism, torturing ridicule, were ready weapons in 
his hands. 

It was, however, in the use of invective that he ex- 
hibited extraordinary genius. He pursued his victim 
with a relentless spirit ; when he camped upon a man's 
trail, he stayed there until he had wrought his venom 
on him. He left him only when he was full of wounds. 
The deadly coldness of the man was something terri- 
ble, and you almost shuddered as you watched the con- 
tinued attack. There were in him, however, some 
sweet places where beauty and fragrance had a hom- 
ing. Amid the rocky and frowning summits of his 
mind were valleys where there were sunshine and 
birds, streams and flowers. There were hours when 
he turned from the battle-field to revel in the beauty 
of the natural world, to drink in the sweetness of the 
fields, to lie down by living waters, to listen to the song 
of birds, and to lift to the glorious dawns and sun- 
sets the poet's eyes, and then to phrase it all into 
speech beautiful beyond compare. He was too stern 
for poetry, but no man could make prose more beau- 
tiful than he. We remember the result of a trip he 
made into the Yosemite many years ago, when that 
great valley was known only to those who were lured 
into the heart of the Sierras by the "call of the wild." 
He was resting from a fierce campaign and wandered 



132 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

off alone into the wilderness, to hold communion with 
inanimate shapes whose grandeur and beauty would 
aid him to forget the strife of man. He spent a week 
in the great valley and studied its features with a pas- 
sionate interest. He stored his memory with pictures 
of its sky-line domes, its stern-faced clififs of rock, 
its waters falling from the sky, its streams flowing 
amid the green of the valley's floor. He caught and 
held the splendor of the early morning and the mellow 
shade of the evening. All these he made his own, and 
when he came back out of this antechamber of the 
Almighty, he brought with him these memories and 
made them immortal. In a series of six double-column 
articles he wrote of the Yosemite as no man has ever 
done before or since. It was a revelation of the man 
and his capacity to interpret the divine as it exists in 
the caress of the hills, the curves of the heavens, the 
drift of cloud and mist, and the silence of mountain 
solitudes. 

In keen contrast to this fine pastime of brain and 
heart was a series of philippics hurled, shortly after 
this diverting vacation, upon the California Bank and 
its management, more particularly against its then 
popular manager, Ralston. The occasion of the 
enmity of the American Flag toward the Bank and 
Ralston we do not remember, but we do recall the 
determined, persistent, vicious, daily attacks made 
against the bank. It was a battle to the death, 
and was waged without the hope of quarter. About 
the same time George Francis Train was holding 
forth in his eccentricities at the old Metropolitan 
Theater, and he soon joined in the hue and cry, and 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 133 

it was said as a part of the history of that time that 
to these influences was largely due the historic run 
upon the bank, its failure and the subsequent tragic 
death of the beloved Ralston. The bank had its revenge, 
however, for the American Flag was upon unsteady 
financial legs, and soon the sheriff closed its career. 
For years we lost sight of the old Scotchman, and 
heard of him only during the last year as a sad, wasted 
wreck of his former power, dying without kith or kin 
to deplore him, in a public institution of Alameda 
County. Such as he have seldom the saving instinct; 
they live from day to day, often finding more necessity 
for drink than for bread; the present is all that con- 
cerns them. "Let the dead past bury its dead" is 
their motto. They are careless for the future. How 
many drifts there are that float out of the literary sea 
into the haven of the hospital or poorhouse, brainy 
derelicts wrecked by temperament! It is one of the 
mysteries of life that from such as these the world 
receives many of its richest gifts. 

The history of municipal journalism shows the 
usual ups and downs, some going out of existence, 
some into decline, some retaining nothing of their 
original character except the old name. The Call 
is a shining example of this last kind. The Alta 
was a notable death known to this generation. There 
were many newspaper deaths in the old time, but they 
are forgotten. The Morning Chronicle of 1856 and 
the Herald of the same date were important in their 
day, in the hands of able men, and yet no headstones 
in the graveyard of newspapers tell men that they 
ever lived. The Post has had a precarious life and 



134 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

varied experience. It had its birth at the hands of 
Henry George, the brainy advocate of the single tax, 
author of "Poverty and Progress." He was an honest 
soul, gave his life to the proclamation of what to him 
was the central truth of political science. He was 
essentially a man of the people and sought to be their 
deliverer. He may not have wrought entirely in 
vain, for a larger wisdom may yet illustrate the width 
of his faith. 

The Post was started as a one-cent paper, in the 
hope that it might afiford by its cheapness a journal for 
the very poor, and make them readers of current news. 
It was well edited and deserved to have fulfilled its 
mission, hut alas, the expenses of metropolitan dailies 
are too great to be met, in days of expensive labor 
and materials, by the limited flow of pennies. As a 
cheap paper it lived long enough to break the pro- 
jectors and passed into the hands of Colonel Jackson, 
who had means and ambitions. It lived a while be- 
hind Jackson's political hopes, and again passed into 
the possession of well known political schemers who 
for a while labored to infuse into its visible life the 
strengthenings of political support, and more recently 
it has been transferred to other ownership and joined 
with the younger Globe, now flourishing as the 
Post-Globe. 

What of the future under the peculiar conditions 
of the resuscitated city? Money is king, and to its 
dominion we are compelled to yield. Things precious 
to former generations are handled with careless hands. 
We are too busy to waste time wandering in old fields, 
for we must keep up with the procession. The mid- 



NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 135 

night oil burns no more on the lawyer's desk; prece- 
dents are more easily found than principles ; the painter 
paints for the market; eloquence is a matter of com- 
merce; the sculptor carves no more for immortality, 
and the newspapers grind out news for the purchas- 
ing multitudes with an eye single to bank accounts. 
They are content to prosper financially, forgetting the 
old days when newspapers dominated the conscience 
and thought of all the people. 



Chapter IX 

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 

■J N early days the Bar was not behind any of its kin- 
■*• dred professions in the number and high charac- 
ter of its members. Some of the names then written 
upon the signs of practising lawyers have since been 
engraved upon the pages of judicial history and be- 
come the symbols of learning and wisdom. To gather 
together now such a group of immortals would re- 
quire a patient search through the world's centers of 
learning. Possibly even then it would be a vain task, 
for the lawyer of the "old school" is a rare creature. 
He still is to be found, though rarely, in the higher 
forums, a man of years, to whom still clings the old 
habit and tradition of the profession. 

The field was a great one for judge and advocate. 
Complex questions were arising out of the conditions 
attendant upon the acquisition of California. The 
Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo sought to firmly pre- 
serve the right? of the Mexican, and to keep inviolate 
private as distinguished from public rights. The re- 
lease of the public domain from the operation of the 
Mexican law was absolute, but private property was 
still held under the tenure of the old Mexican and 

136 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 137 

Spanish laws and customs, which laws and customs 
were by the Treaty, so far as private property was 
concerned, continued in force and made the supreme 
law of the land. 

So far as personal property was concerned, the 
rights of the Mexican were easily preserved; it was 
no difficult task to construe and apply the old laws 
and customs, but the adjustment and recognition of 
titles covering great grants of lands were more diffi- 
cult, and for years taxed the patience and minds of 
great lawyers and great judges. Years of litigation 
followed the Treaty and the acquisition of California. 
There was more or less chaos in the condition, and 
much fraud. This made easy solutions impossible, 
even where the main title was plain. Crudeness of 
description and imperfect detail of attendant incidents 
made ultimate certainty a difficult task, even at the 
hands of the most skilled. 

This was the field that invited the best equipped 
minds of the entire country. The work was abundant, 
its long continuance certain, and its fruits promised 
to be rich. To fix definite boundaries by surveys at 
the hands of national surveyors, who measured under 
the authority of congressional statutes and the de- 
crees of federal courts; to construe the often doubt- 
ful terms of ancient grants; to establish in court 
records the evidence that often rested in uncertain 
memories, and to expose villainies in forgeries and 
perjuries, were but a part of the task presented to the 
robust young lawyers, first of the Territory, then of 
the young State from 1850, and thence through suc- 
ceeding years. 



138 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

International law, Spanish law, Mexican law, Span- 
ish and Mexican customs, State legislation and federal 
enactments were all mixed in a sort of hotch-potch, 
and the mere tyro was certain to he lost at the very 
beginning in the tangled mass. It was a great work, 
possible only to the greatest in the profession. This 
opportunity, as well as necessity, attracted men com- 
petent to master the situation, and for thirty years 
following 1850 California could proudly call the roll 
of a list of lawyers whose names quickly became 
famous, and in after years illustrious, and whose 
achievements enriched legal history. Some were but 
temporary residents ; most, however, permanent citi- 
zens who closed here their careers and their lives. 
Those who moved to other spheres of action did not 
decline in fame, but in other commonwealths and in 
other lands rose to and held, with masterful ability, 
their station in the profession. Among the latter 
were Judah P. Benjamin (afterwards Queen's Coun- 
sel in England), General H. W. Halleck, a notable 
soldier in the Civil War, Frederick Billings, his one- 
time partner. General E. D. Baker, splendid orator 
and gallant soldier, and Judge Stephen J. Field, the 
contribution of California to the Supreme Court of 
the United States. The list of those who cast in their 
lot with the State and made here their homes is long 
and illustrious. No city of its size in the civilized 
world ever had as contemporaries such a splendid 
group of supreme men in a single profession. It is a 
roll of fame, and as we read it and recall the faces 
and figures of many as we saw them in oflRce and 
court, the heart grows tender, for with many of them. 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 139 

as a law student, we had personal relations. To have 
been a law student in those golden days of the profes- 
sion was a privilege unattainable in the present. 

We can name from memory many who in their 
prime adorned life as lawyers and as men. Among 
those whom we knew, some personally and all by 
face, were: Hall McAllister, for forty years the ac- 
knowledged chief of the legal fraternity on the Pacific 
Coast; Joseph P. Hoge; John W. and Samuel H. 
Dwindle; x\lexander Campbell; John B. Felton; 
Samuel M. Wilson; John Garber; Lorenzo Sawyer; 

E. D. Sawyer; Nathan Porter; Frank Pixley; John 

F. Swift; Calhoun Benham; Elisha Cook; Milton 
Andros ; A. C. Peachy ; Trenor W. Park ; James McM. 
Shafter; Oscar L. Shafter; John Curry; A. P. Crit- 
tenden; Sharp Brothers; Nathaniel Bennett; Silas W. 
Sanderson ; Edward F. Head ; Joel L. Blatchley ; John 
Satterlee ; T. L Bergin ; H. P. Barber ; Henry Byrne ; 
Harvey S. Brown ; Samuel Cowles ; James A. Zabris- 
kie; Henry E. Highton; Morris M, Estee; Edward 
D. W^heeler ; Solomon Sharp ; James H. Hardy ; H. P. 
Irving; W. W. Cope; H. H. Haight; William Hayes; 
W. H. L. Barnes ; W. T. Wallace ; W. H. Patterson ; 
W. W. Stow ; Delos Lake ; Tod Robinson ; Henry Ed- 
gerton ; Thomas H. Williams ; O. C. Pratt and Eugene 
Casserly. 

We could extend this list, but enough has been writ- 
ten to emphasize our claim that we had a great Bar. 
Two only of these immortal names represent living 
men : John Curry and T. L Bergin. The others have 
passed on into the silent republic of the dead. 

Most of these men were content to remain in the 



I40 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

field as advocates; some were called to the Supreme 
Bench and some to the Federal Bench, and some to 
the nisi priiis courts. Oscar L. Shafter, John Curry, 
Nathaniel Bennett and Silas W. Sanderson sat with 
distinction upon the Supreme Bench of the State. 
Lorenzo Sawyer was their associate, and was after- 
wards called to preside over the Federal Court, being 
Circuit Judge of the United States for the Northern 
District of California during the latter part of his 
life. Samuel H. Dwindle was the acceptable Judge 
of the Fifteenth District Court for many years ; E. D. 
Sawyer in the Fourth District; O. C. Pratt on the 
Twelfth Bench, and E. D. Wheeler in the Nineteenth 
District. W. T. Wallace sat upon both the Supreme 
and Superior Bench, and J. P. Hoge closed his life 
as one of the Judges of the Superior Court of the 
City and County of San Francisco. 

A comparison of the old names on the District 
Benches and the old roll of the earlier lawyers, with 
modern judges and lawyers, does not detract from the 
fine old names now a part of the State's judicial his- 
tory and a part of its glory. The comaraderie of the 
old Bar was delightful. Its members were genial and 
congenial. A fine confidence in a common integrity 
and generosity was in force, and while conflicts were 
often fierce, they never marred the genuine friend- 
ships that existed between the warring advocates. 
The friendships were based upon a mutual respect 
one for the other, moral and intellectual. They were 
members of a republic of wisdom and morals, and to 
each other they extended kindness and confidence. 
They called each other by their Christian names, were 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 141 

full of cheery salutation, rejoiced with each other in 
victories or condoled in defeats. They made up a 
noble brotherhood, having a community of interest in 
fine things, and treating with a common scorn the 
things that were mean and unholy. It needed in those 
days no carefully drawn written stipulation between 
lawyers in the regulation of practice, tho the law re- 
quired it. They extended to each other professional 
courtesies without writing, and a word given was a 
bond never broken. Oftentimes millions were de- 
pendent upon a verbal promise given upon the street. 
They warred like giants but dwelt together like 
brothers. A wide, warm charity was the climate of 
their intercourse. It was a charming hour for him 
who happened to be present before the opening of court 
on some field-day, which called together in the court- 
room many of these genial souls; it was an hour of 
eloquence, wit and repartee. Hall and Sam and Joe 
were full of wisdom or fun, and the merry crowd 
made the moments radiant with the happy intercourse 
of lofty-minded men. These were hours when they 
were free from care and ready to sweeten their own 
hearts by adding joy to others. 

Motion day in the District Courts was always a 
congregation day. It became a custom to gather there, 
drawn by the attraction of social intercourse, if not by 
legal engagements. Each one seemed to bring to this 
gathering the best in him for his contribution to the 
general fund of wit and wisdom. Here, too, in the 
discussion of motions or demurrers in great cases in- 
volving tremendous issues, were heard arguments that 
were the perfection of learning and eloquence. In 



142 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

these discussions such giants as McAlHster, Wilson, 
Patterson, Felton, Thompson, Campbell and Dwindle 
often took part. It was a liberal education in law, 
logic and rhetoric to sit in court when these men were 
holding forth with their might, their minds made 
radiant for the occasion by a preparation, the intensity 
of which would astound the lawyer of these rushing 
days. Men could then give a reason for their faith, 
and call upon history, poetry or science for an illus- 
tration, draw from the deeps of erudition forgotten 
lore, or appeal to lofty human experience for prece- 
dent. The common was made brilliant and the bril- 
liant glorious. Many such days were filled with ar- 
guments upon the details of evidence or upon the 
principles that were at the base of the case. These 
were classics, worthy to be made permanent gems of 
thought and language. Those who first listened could 
only wonder in amazement that men could exhibit such 
power. These splendid efforts were so frequent, how- 
ever, that one ceased to regard them as rare exhibi- 
tions of the capacity of the human mind, and becoming 
familiar with greatness at last to cease to wonder at 
it. One felt but could not describe the spell. The 
charm was beyond analysis, just as the perfume of a 
rose is a something that homes in the personality, a 
fascination understood by the spirit but too evanescent 
for the portraiture of speech. Personal magnetism 
is a phrase that seems too coarse to suggest the spiritu- 
ality of faculties that made these men winning to all 
who were fortunate enough to be within their recogni- 
tion. To be taken into the inner house of their friend- 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 143 

ship was like the initiation into some secret rite. Their 
confidence had in it the comfort of a benediction. 

Young as we were when these men were in their 
prime, we were thrown into close personal touch with 
man)'' of them by reason of their relations with the 
law offices in which we were student and clerk. 
We shall never forget the kindliness, the condescen- 
sion so gracious that it had the warmth of a personal 
regard, that characterized them. We never look upon 
the statue of McAllister standing on the fore of the 
City Hall grounds, that we do not feel the charm of 
the old days, when he gave us salutation and audience 
with a dignity as serene and with attention as close 
and patient as if we had been his equal in age, learn- 
ing and achievement. If we were disposed to become 
a pessimist, to look upon our race as degenerating, to 
read in the signs of the times a decline in our civiliza- 
tion, we could not hold to the pessimism while our 
mind was brightened by the memory of McAllister. 
When we first knew him in 1 871, he was at his zenith, 
if there were possible to him any highest mark, while 
his mind was free from the later weakness which the 
tremendous labor of years brought upon him with a 
partial eclipse of faculties. 

No matter how lofty may tower a mountain range, 
there are always summits that lift above the average 
lines and become individualized. These uplifted peaks 
attract and hold the eye, no matter how lofty may 
be the mountains from which they spring; and so out 
of a group of prominent men there are a few to whom 
by their uplift is accorded the first place. This held 
good among the members of the San Francisco Bar, 



144 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

and no one will ever challenge the leadership of Hall 
McAllister, the brilliance of General E. D. Baker, the 
eloquence of Henry Edgerton, the great tho eccentric 
genius of Rufus A, Lockvvood, or the profound learn- 
ing and acumen of Nathaniel Bennett. 

The qualities of these great men were imprest 
upon one as the sweetness of a summer morning is 
imprest upon the senses. The artist needs the fre- 
quent presence of his subject that he may catch and 
make permanent the personality upon his canvas. Our 
recollections of McAllister are so vivid, that had we 
the painter's art, we could glorify a canvas with his 
form and face, without this exterior aid. He was of 
splendid physical mold, a massive figure whose dig- 
nity and poise made a fit framework for the supreme 
mind of which it was the temple. The proportions 
of his body were in keeping with the noble head that 
crowned a breadth of shoulders which would have 
made him an athlete in the Olympic Games, had he 
not been a giant in the athletics of the brain. Strength 
was suggested in every movement of his superb body, 
a strength that was strong and beautiful. To retain 
for so many years the leadership without question or 
challenge, as did McAllister, was a great achievement. 

Men of ordinary mold strive and toil to acquire and 
hold such places. To McAllister it came by moral 
gravitation. Story, in speaking of the great Chief 
Justice Marshall, said that he was born to be the Chief 
Justice of any county in which Providence had cast 
him. So of McAllister. He was born to the purple 
robe of leadership. The wonder of it all was his 
modest acceptation of it. His fellows placed him 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 145 

where he was, and with no self -consciousness he simply 
went about his work, careful in it, but careless of his 
fame. He was always, outside of his profession, a 
simple private citizen. The law office and the court- 
room were his world, and there he worked and lived. 
He was never known to take part in public office, never 
seen in popular assemblages or upon public platforms. 
Politics had no attraction for his busy mind. He was 
essentially an advocate who served the law, which to 
him was a jealous mistress. He wandered in no other 
fields, coquetted with no outside loves, remained to 
the end an example of the highest type of the pro- 
fessional man, to whom his profession was an in- 
exhaustible field for earnest, lofty endeavor. The 
simplicity of greatness gave him wonderful nobility 
of presence. He was stately on occasions, like a Ro- 
man Senator in the forum. A woman's sweetness was 
his normal mood; it was the climate of his spirit and 
made irresistible the grandeur of his mind. Resist- 
ance to this quality was impossible to him who came 
within the circle of its influence. 

In trying a case he was urbane and gracious, care- 
ful of the very accent of his speech, lest his adversary 
might be wounded by a seeming arrogance. A 
courtly deference marked his intercourse with the 
Judge upon the Bench, and his fine regard for the 
proprieties of the profession was an education in 
courtesy. Strong and thoroughly equipped he entered 
into and ended his trials. He loved a trial and gloried 
in the struggle at the Bar. Careful preparation made 
him the master of the law and evidence, and he moved 
forward with the terrible certainty of success. He 



146 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

had the genius for hard work, and loved work. He 
never went into court until the minutest detail was 
a clear and personal possession of his mind and the 
vi^hole case revolved about some well defined princi- 
ple, as upon a pivot. We were often near him in the 
trial of great cases and became familiar with the care 
he gave to mere minutiae — the arrangement of his 
evidence in detailed notes, the careful grouping of 
his evidentiary exhibits, and the arrangement of his 
law books wherein were stored his authorities. In 
those minor details was the work of a master. He was 
especially great in the preliminary statement to the 
court of the facts upon which he intended to build 
his case, and it became a maxim of the courtroom that 
when McAllister had stated his case, it was half won. 
There was only one other among all the gifted law- 
yers of that day that approached him in this capacity 
for clear and luminous statement, and that was Wil- 
liam H. Patterson, a member of the distinguished firm 
of Wallace, Patterson and Stowe. With the Court 
and Jury in possession of his facts through this clear 
statement, McAllister, through the examination of 
witnesses, piled up in seeming mountains of truth, the 
mass of evidence, so clear, so logical, so impressive, 
as if to make it apparent that modesty alone had held 
him back from being cruel to his adversary by a state- 
ment of all of his facts. He was a generous and 
kindly adversary but terribly dangerous, and was 
rarely defeated. How could he be defeated with jury 
and witnesses but plastic clay in his hands, to be 
molded as the potter molds his clay? 

McAllister was an all-round man, equally at home 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS m7 

in all departments of the profession. He was too large 
for a specialist. He stood upon the summit and saw 
clearly all below him. There must have been in his 
mental rnake-up a profound sub-conscious faculty, for 
he read men and things and their relations to each 
other with unerring certainty. He measured men by 
the length and breadth of their environment and knew 
them to be the scientific moral product of this mold- 
ing condition. Thus, becoming familiar with the un- 
derlying character, he was able to read as from an 
open book, and thereby became a ruler of men. There 
was no brutality in his searching after a man's soul. 
It was a psychological effort, and the touch he was 
compelled to lay upon some sore spot in the spirit was 
very gentle. As if it was but yesterday, we remember 
his first criminal trial. For years he had been en- 
grossed in great civil business, with a wide clientage 
among the leading commercial men and corporations, 
and had never been engaged in the trial of a case in- 
volving criminal law. 

A simple old man named Johnson, living south 
of Market Street (then, as before the lire, the home 
of the laboring classes), had warned a young hoodlum, 
who was paying undue attentions to his daughter, to 
desist and to leave her alone. It was a simple com- 
mand, but, as it developed, it had in it a deadly earnest- 
ness. The warning was unheeded, and one night the 
old man waited, with his shotgim, at his gate, and 
slew the hoodlum. It was a tragedy of the lowly, 
and would have awakened no public interest except 
for the fact that McAllister was retained to defend 
Johnson. Immediately an intense interest focalized 



148 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

about the case, it became a cause cclchre. People vs. 
Johnson was one of the remarkable murder trials of 
the State. The greatness of McAllister was illus- 
trated in his professional relation to this deed of ven- 
geance. Men wondered and speculated as to what 
McAllister would do in the new field. The trial was 
had before Judge Dwindle in the Fifteenth District 
Court, and so intense was the interest, that it was the 
one topic in the public press and mind. Curiosity 
was a-tiptoe, and almost the entire Bar of the city 
was in daily attendance for nearly a week. Curiosity, 
however, soon gave place to wonder, as McAllister, 
with the same grasp and power he had always ex- 
hibited, unfolded and elaborated the defense with the 
same irresistible detail of law and evidence. His ad- 
dress to the jury was a tremendous arraignment of 
the despoilers of women — a defense of the inviolability 
of the lowliest home, and a sweet and winning narra- 
tion of the sanctities of domestic life. No man, un- 
less he had been blind and deaf, could have swayed 
away from that marvelous appeal, and within an hour 
after the jury had retired, the newsboys on the streets 
were shouting the acquittal of Johnson. From that 
day no man questioned the range of McAllister's 
genius. 

His preparation for a trial was an engrossing con- 
centration. It seemed as if every physical energy were 
marshaled in the brain, and he worked with an almost 
superhuman energy. On one occasion, on a matter im- 
portant to him, which was the sole reason for our 
being allowed to intrude into his working den, we 
found him in his shirt-sleeves, without his collar, 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 149 

walking up and clown the room like an aroused lion. 
He looked like a man in the grip of pain, and beads 
of sweat stood like dew upon his face. On every avail- 
able desk and chair and table were open books which 
he had been consulting. He was the personification 
of work. We dared not risk more than a moment with 
him, and we said, as we asked his pardon for the in- 
trusion, "Mr. McAllister, you seem to be a busy man." 
With the winning smile so common to him, he said: 
"I have to work harder than anybody else at the Bar 
to keep up with the procession." He told me once 
that a speech, a masterpiece of eloquence he delivered 
to the jury in defense of a well known citizen charged 
with an assault with a deadly weapon, was dictated in 
its entirety four times to his stenographer. Of course 
the jury acquitted his client, for what other result 
could follow such devoted labor? 

This capacity for continuous, exhaustive work was 
the secret of his success. It was the habit of his mind. 
It would naturally be supposed that such as he would 
be arrogant and proud. He was too sure of himself 
for such artificial aids, and was of all men most simple 
and always approachable. He was especially kindly 
to and regardful of the young practitioner at the Bar, 
and never failed to recognize and counsel him. Once, 
as we were walking down Montgomery Street, in the 
days when it was the main street of the city, he over- 
took us, and slipping his arm affectionately under ours, 
said "Walk along with me ; it might do you good for 
people to see that I like you." It was a beautiful 
condescension of a great spirit. Years after we saw 
him in Stockton one time, after court, when he needed 



I50 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

a little relaxation, and he was playing pool with the 
bellboy of the hotel, and both of them were as joyous 
as kids. 

In Nevada, at one time, it became necessary for us 
to give references in connection with a possible pro- 
fessional employment. When asked for reference, we 
took the chance and referred to McAllister. In a few 
days a letter was received from him, couched in the 
kindliest phrases and highly recommending us by rea- 
son of old recollections and affiliations. By such ser- 
vices as these he ingratiated himself into the life of 
his fellows, and what w^onder that men loved him as 
much for the greatness of his heart as the greatness of 
his mind. 

It would be an incomplete sketch that did not in- 
clude some analysis of his power of speech, so far as it 
is susceptible of analysis. He was not given to flights 
of oratory, had none of the arts of the mere actor. 
He strove for no effects artificially attained. In pure 
and musical English he talked conversationally, but 
as one who was terribly in earnest in a faithful effort 
to perform a duty. The occasion was too full of moral 
responsibilities to permit of vain words or doubtful 
appeals. Calm and deliberate was every phrase, and 
the flow of thought and word was as steady as the 
march of the day. No halt marred the integrity of 
his argument, but by logical climb he reached the alti- 
tudes where the lands were clear and men could see 
the truth as he saw it. He dealt in principles largely, 
and relied but little upon mere authority. He fre- 
quently quoted from the best of modern and ancient 
authors, and would also often quote from St. John, 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 151 

David, Isaiah and Christ. This appeal to the Scriptures 
was a favorite habit, and his apphcation of its subhme 
truths to a case was always timely and happy. His 
power before the courts lay in the clearness with which 
he presented the facts, and the application thereto of 
the legal principles which governed them. He had 
perhaps no equal at the Bar in this capacity to apply 
the law to a given state of facts. With a jury he was 
irresistible by reason of the consideration he gave to 
them ; he made each individual feel as if he were a 
personal friend. This same influence he exerted upon 
the most hostile witness. With persuasive smile he 
appealed to the reason of the jurymen, pleased their 
vanity, and by graduated climaxes grouped his facts 
into their appropriate relations to the case. He was 
like a skilful general, paying attention first to the in- 
dividual soldier, then to the companies, and then to the 
regiments, until he had molded the personnel of the 
army into a victorious fighting force. He always 
built his case about a central fact and worked with 
unerring skill to make all subordinate evidence verify 
it. When he left his case in the hands of the jury, 
there was no mist or cloud ; whatever the case might 
be, it was always clear. He never asked for the benefit 
of a doubt. 

Whatever the future may hold of greatness in the 
legal profession on the Pacific, however splendid may 
be the achievements of its members, the day is re- 
mote when its most gifted son shall be equal to more 
than a comparison with Hall McAllister. 

There were great law cases frequently on trial in 
the Twelfth District Court. One we recall. Michael 



152 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Reese, a well-known and unique character of those days, 
a great hulk of a man with a keen instinct for money, 
held title to a lot on the northwest corner of Wash- 
ington and Kearny Streets, then a central location. 
Many years before an old man, named Sill, whom, 
if we recall correctly, had been in San Francisco when 
it was a Mexican pueblo, was one of the sailors of 
a ship that had drifted into the little port for hides 
and tallow. He was a blacksmith, and he had ac- 
quired from the then occupant, or at least thought he 
had, the lot in question. He was gone for years 
and then died. Years afterward, in 1864, his son 
appeared, and finding the property valuable, entered 
suit for its recovery. John W. Dwinelle, a distin- 
guished lawyer, was his counsel, and Reese was rep- 
resented by S. M. Wilson, John B. Felton and Thomp- 
son Campbell. It was a battle royal, of absorbing 
interest, because of the great advocates ranged on 
each side, the local questions involved, and the char- 
acter of the witnesses. The Sill title ran back into the 
days of Mexican possession, and of course depended 
upon Mexican laws and customs, outside of the statute 
of limitations under the State law. The trial lasted 
for weeks, before a jury, and a host of witnesses, who 
were familiar with the condition of afifairs before Cali- 
fornia became American territory, testified. Careful 
preparation on both sides made respective counsel his- 
torians, as well as Mexican lawyers, and if the testi- 
mony in the case was not burned in the great fire, it 
is full of exact narration of the traditions, customs, 
habits, and laws existing on the peninsula from Por- 
tola's time down to the transition of the Mexican 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 153 

pueblo, known then as Yerba Buena (good herb), 
into an American city. Witnesses were called, whose 
heads were white with the frosts of years, well known 
Mexicans and Spaniards, familiar with events here 
from their youth; Englishmen and Americans, who 
had in years long before become identified with life 
in this then remote seaport. 

Wilson, then a noted practitioner, famed for his 
keen analysis and a persistent pursuit of facts, was at 
his best, and his efforts in this great case would have 
made him famous, if he had not already risen to the 
very front of his profession. He was a frail man 
physically, naturally irritable, but of great nervous 
energy, and with an endurance of steel. He was re- 
garded as one of the most dangerous of adversaries, 
and his record was full of work successfully done. 
A noted figure in the case, however, was Thompson 
Campbell, a great lawyer, of marked individuality, 
physically and mentally. His absorbed attitude, asso- 
ciated with over six feet of attenuated frame, crowned 
with a deeply lined face deadly in its paleness, attract- 
ed the spectator with a sort of occult charm. You 
looked at him with a strange fascination, for he seemed 
to be the personification of brain, as if the mind in 
him had become flesh, and one, in looking at him, 
more thoroughly understood the psychological state- 
ment of St. John, when he said : "The word was made 
flesh and dwelt among us." In Campbell the mind was 
made flesh and moved among men. He walked as a 
man of silence, capable of living in the solitude of his 
own nature. A profound sadness rested on his pale 
features and even when deep in the discussion of great 



154 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

things, no flame of interest or passion ever warmed up 
their terrible pallor. 

As a counsel in a case Campbell was a tower of 
strength. His acute intellect grasped every detail, and 
his power of analysis was so masterful that he was able 
to discard all features that were not of controlling 
value. There was no waste in his work. Like a skilful 
sculptor, he chipt off unnecessary material until he 
presented a perfect case. The aid he rendered to the 
trial lawyer was along the winning lines, for he was 
like a pioneer cutting out a clear path through the com- 
plexities of the evidence and the law. His tempera- 
ment was too cold for the advocate, and he seldom par- 
ticipated in jury trials. His strength lay in the pres- 
entation of the law to the court. To the trained mind 
of the lawyer his arguments were great treats. They 
could not be understood by the civilian, for he rea- 
soned out his position with about the same enthusiasm 
with which a mathematician calculates the coming of 
an eclipse. His spirit was able to find companionship 
within himself. He was usually alone, able to find 
solace such as he desired in self-communion. He had 
the habits of lonely natures, and indulged them to the 
full. He was fond of stimulation for its own sake, 
and he was as unique in his use of stimulants as he 
was in all other things. He was a stranger to the 
resorts of pleasure, where men usually gathered after 
hours of toil. It was in the quiet of his own chamber 
that he often outsat the night, seeking in the power 
of wine to stir his forces to the warmth of common 
men. 

We well remember once at Benicia, an intermediate 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 155 

port, between Sacramento and San Francisco, when a 
queer old dominie asked us if we knew Campbell. On 
our replying that we did, he said, "Well, he beats all 
men I ever saw ; he comes to my place and sits up all 
night and drinks twenty bottles of champagne, and in 
the morning he is sober, — what a man, what a man !" 
It must have been in this tremendous stimulation he 
found that he was human. 

In those days intense individualities made men stand 
clearly apart with the distinctness of cameos. This 
was found in intellect and personality, and gave to 
these men an attraction that was compelling and force- 
ful. General Baker was one of these, of the very high- 
est type. In spite of the habit of frequent dissipation 
that at times removed him from ordinary rational in- 
tercourse, he was in his sober hours gracious and win- 
ning, and the choicest of companions by reason of his 
abundant kindness of spirit and his richness in human 
touch and sympathy. He was of noble presence, clas- 
sical in feature and with the manners of a prince. He 
had great conversational gifts, and in the hour of good 
fellowship became a fountain bubbling over with wis- 
dom and wit. Free of vanity, unconsciously he be- 
came the center of any group by common consent ; and 
the hours flew on rapid feet while he poured out his 
soul from the affluence of his gifted nature, as a foun- 
tain pours out from secret caverns abundant pure and 
sweet waters. He was a natural orator, with every 
grace of speech and gesture, and on great occasions, 
when his soul was stirred, he spoke as one inspired. 
Words fell from his lips in joyous association and with 
the melodv of music. He was a magician, and under 



156 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

his touch common things became beautiful. His audi- 
ences were to him as a great organ under the fingers 
of a master. He called up from dull natures, from 
cold hearts, unsuspected sweetness, and lifted high na- 
tures into altitudes of lofty feeling. When his own 
nature became flooded with the splendor of his dreams, 
he was beyond resistance, for he spoke as one having 
authority from the oracles. He was too much of the 
orator and the dreamer to be a profound lawyer. His 
restless spirit was too much in love with beauty to 
waste itself in the silence of the study. His arena was 
the open places of the world, where men toiled and 
hoped and suffered. It was this quality that drove him 
at the breaking out of the war, to the battle-field, and 
led him to his heroic death at the head of his troops, 
in the needless exposure of himself to peril. He was 
a great soul, and this greatness was beyond the reach 
of habits that would have destroyed him, had he been 
within the power of mere animal tastes. Dissipation 
blurred only for a time his immortal faculties, and he 
rose from temporary degradation to the strong and 
majestic figure of a noble man. 

Baker's achievements at the Bar were confined to 
criminal trials, where by reason of his magnetism and 
eloquence he was successful. Before a jury he was 
suave, gracious and compelling. He won their atten- 
tion and affection by a rare sweetness of manner, and 
made them feel that his client was a good man because 
he was so earnestly pleading in his defense. He could 
make the worst appear the better part, and then in a 
great burst of passion lay in the hands of the jury the 
fate of their fellow man. Such appeals were seldom 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 157 

in vain. Baker had great political ambitions. He loved 
popular assemblies, and gloried in the opportunity to 
lead in popular movements. He saw in the political 
condition of California no opportunity for the realiza- 
tion of his hope, and became a resident of Oregon, 
where his genius found sudden recognition, and he 
was sent to the United States Senate. His heroic, 
chivalrous nature could not resist the call of the coun- 
try to arms, and he went to the front to lose his life 
at Ball's Bluff in a heroic charge at the head of his 
troops; and so ended a glorious life, of human weak- 
ness but essentially of divine qualities. 

In the beautiful Napa Valley, when the State was 
young, there grew to manhood a rare native son. It 
was long before the organization, which came into be- 
ing later, that boasts as its membership only those who 
are native born. Henry Edgerton grew in years and 
in great qualities amid the wooded hills and inviting 
meadows that make Napa Valley a restful and whole- 
some dwelling place. The hills, the woods, the invit- 
ing loveliness of fields and the balm of sunny skies 
drew out and fostered the genius of Edgerton and 
gave him that mental fiber that in after years, in legis- 
lative halls and in courts, gave him conspicuous place 
and entitled him to rank among the leaders of both 
forums. A quick intelligence was enriched by an 
imagination that in ordinary environment saw only 
things that were fine. There was no coarseness about 
him. He was as fine as a Grecian statue, and a gra- 
cious manliness strengthened the grace and attracted 
attention in every assemblage and made him a delight- 
ful leader. 



158 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

His mind ripened in his youth, and he was almost 
a beardless boy when he became famous. To a body 
graceful in every line of perfection there was in- 
wrought a certain nameless magnetism that was a 
constant influence, as much a part of him as the per- 
fume is a part of a rose. His features were modeled 
after that type in which sculptors and painters have 
in all generations imprest manly beauty. He was 
far from an egotist, but was not unconscious of the 
gifts that made him acceptable to his fellows. These 
gifts were a part of his equipment as an orator, and 
were the aids to his arts of speech, in which he had at 
that time no superior. As an orator he was equaled 
only by Starr King, the great Unitarian divine, of 
whom he was a contemporary. Edgerton had a fine 
legal mind, and would have been a first-class lawyer 
had he devoted himself to the intensity of study that 
success at the Bar demands, and he would have been 
as noted in the profession as he was an orator. Had 
he been gifted with McAllister's capacity for hard 
work, he could have won the fame of a great advo- 
cate. Perhaps these were faults of temperament, and 
doubtless they were, for he, unfortunately for himself 
and to the grief of those who cherished him, early fell 
into habits of dissipation, that as he grew in years fast- 
ened on him with a grip that could not be shaken off. 
It may be that to such as he, high spirited, artistic and 
imaginative, there may come dreadful hours of re- 
bound that tear at the nerves and to whose despondent 
loneliness there is no relief but in wine. Who that is 
not so gifted knows? Who is fortified to criticize ana 
sneer? Surely not those in whose veins cool blood 



A GkOUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 159 

flows, and the beat of whose hearts is as steady as a 
piston rod. Edgerton's career ran nearly to the noon, 
and then by reason of his habits, he decHned to a sad 
and lonely death in a friend's law office in the Mont- 
gomery Block. This close of a brilliant life was full 
of woful pathos. We knew him when he was in the 
flush of his life, and in the long list of attractive per- 
sonalities, grouped in the membership of the Bar, we 
recall none more gentle or noble, a brilliant, artistic 
soul, full of beauty and charm. 

As a political speaker Edgerton was a master. He 
was in great demand by his party, and always was 
ready to stump the State. He commanded large audi- 
ences, and people heard him gladly. As illustrating 
his power as a public speaker, we remember but as 
yesterday some exciting discussion of the policies of 
the Government in reconstruction times. Edgerton 
was called to defend his party, and in old Piatt's hall 
on Montgomery Street, for four hours, to an audience 
of men intensely concerned in the question and opposed 
many of them to each other, he delivered an oration 
that has never been surpassed for its clear grasp of the 
situation, its flights and fancies, its beauty of illustra- 
tion and its sallies of caustic wit. His opponents, 
even, were held enthralled by his wonderful exposition. 
The questions involved legal principles, and he read 
from law books authority sustaining his argument. 
It was the first and last time that we have heard an 
orator read to a popular audience the dry words of the 
law, as if they were as musical as a poem. It was a 
fine psychological achievement, and could have been 
done by no second-rate man. 



i6o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

As a native, intellectual product Edgerton suggests 
that the sunlit places, the noble mountains, the flower- 
ing fields and the glorious skies of California may be 
the cradle of genius, at last, when we have come 
fully into our own and the spiritual side of man, by 
environment and atmosphere expands into those whose 
brain and heart shall rival if not excel in their work 
the intellectual development that glorified the shores of 
the Mediterranean in the past. Much is expected 
from our "newness of living" and unless all present 
races have reached the summit and are looking down 
the decline, there can not fail to yet arise somewhere on 
the Pacific supreme men whose supreme race shall ex- 
pose how nearly the merely human may reach upward 
toward the divine. We may yet reach the promised 
land where we will cease to hunger after the "flesh 
pots of Egypt." 

There are two characters of note, whose faces ap- 
pear to us out of the past, and whose features are part 
of the movement that gave so much of color and 
strength to the "Bench and Bar" when we were young 
and strong. One, Rufus A. Lockwood, came and went 
like a comet, a strange, mysterious soul, of profound 
learning, forceful and eccentric. He drifted into port 
as a sailor before the mast, from whence no man 
knows. We recite the story of his life as it was 
current at that time, and while he was for a few years 
a figure at the Bar, luminous and illuminating by the 
exhibition of capacities almost measureless in their 
range of scholarship and erudition. Upon his advent 
into the city, he sought out a well-known law firm, 
at that time engaged in extensive litigation affecting 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS i6i 

Mexican grants of land. He sought only for a jani- 
torship, which was given him. He came and went in 
the office, faithful to his duties, until one morning the 
leading member of the firm found on his desk a brief, 
written in a scholarly hand, which dealt with the facts 
of the case just decided, the transcript of which lay 
upon the lawyer's desk. The lawyer glanced through 
the brief in amazement, followed the clear statement 
of controlling facts therein, and recognized the lucid 
and apt quotation of the law applicable thereto. Filled 
with wonder, he called the janitor and asked him where 
the brief came from. He, with a quiet smile, said, "I 
wrote it." "You wrote it — are you insane?" replied 
the lawyer. "No, I am not insane and I wrote it last 
night ; I stayed up all night to do it." "In God's name, 
then, who are you ?" "I am a lawyer and have had a 
little experience in such work." The janitorship was 
then given up and he was made an attache of the of- 
fice, and was enrolled as one of the most striking, pe- 
culiar and brilliant members of the California Bar, — 
for a few years only, for there seemed to be a deep- 
seated eccentricity and restlessness in his nature, and 
one day he disappeared as silently and mysteriously as 
he came. What became of him remains unknown to 
this day. 

One day, while examining a hostile witness, whom 
he believed to be guilty of determinate perjury, and 
whom he was unable to dislodge, after many ques- 
tions he stopt a moment and paused as if in some 
occult meditation. He then looked up into the eyes 
of the witness with a piercing glance and said to him 
quietly, "Would you believe yourself under oath?" 



i62 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

This was too much for the witness, the attack was too 
sudden, and in great confusion he seemed unable to 
proceed with his testimony. 

This chapter would not be complete if we closed it 
without mention of the Supreme Court of the golden 
days. California ranked high among the States of the 
Union for the great names that made the decisions of 
its supreme Court authority wherever law books were 
read and known. Nathaniel Bennett was one of the 
first Justices of this great court. He was then a young 
man, and the reports for 1850-51 of the Supreme Court 
decisions, many of which were written by him, were 
and are quoted as authority in all courts, not only in 
America but in England. Daniel Webster, while ar- 
guing an important case before the Supreme Court of 
the United States, after reading from one of these de- 
cisions written by Bennett, said to the Court, with an 
expression of his surprise and admiration : Who is 
this young man Bennett? He seems to have a fine 
legal mind." This was true, for he had unerring in- 
stinct for legal principles. He was at this time vigor- 
ous physically and mentally. For years after his re- 
tirement from the Bench he practised in San Francisco, 
and was in great demand as a counsellor. 

About middle age, Bennett was much afflicted with 
serious infirmities which interfered greatly with his 
activity. He was a ponderous man and strong in every 
way, but sometimes yielded to spells of dissipation, 
which, while interfering with his continuous practice, 
never interfered with the clearness of his mind. While 
engaged in one of the District Courts as assistant 
counsel in a case, he sat as if asleep, and some one 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 163 

said, "Does Bennett sleep all the time?" To which 
came the answer from opposing counsel : "No, but if 
he is asleep, for goodness' sake don't wake him up." 
It was in this same case, while he was apparently 
asleep, in this attitude of indifference, that an opposing 
lawyer was reading an authority to the court. All went 
well for a while, until some phrase was read which did 
not express sound law, and Bennett, arousing himself, 
startled the Court by shouting, "It is not there, it is not 
there." And a close examination of the case showed 
that it was not there. He was a profound student and 
read his books from love of them. 

The Supreme Court of California maintained its 
great character for many years, and in the sixties 
Sanderson was Chief Justice, and John Curry, Lorenzo 
Sawyer, A. L. Rhodes and Oscar Shafter were Asso- 
ciate Justices. Reports of their decisions are illumi- 
nations of the law. Sanderson, although harassed with 
physical infirmities that would have weakened an or- 
dinary man, and driven him into retirement from the 
activities of life, worked like a slave and was as bril- 
liant as he was sound. He was a scholar of the best 
order, and into his decisions often wove by way of 
illustration philosophy and poetry. In the case of 
Fox vs. Minor, while he was castigating the faith- 
less trustee of a minor, he quoted from Shakespeare 
this: "He kept the word of promise to the ear, but 
broke it to the hope." In Falkinberg vs. Lucy, a con- 
test between rival soap-makers over a trademark, he 
added much to humorous literature by his references to 
the testimony in the case. The report of this decision 
is humorous reading, and is to-day the leading author- 



i64 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ity on injunctions. He was always clear and illumi- 
nating, and a lawyer leaning upon one of his decisions 
as authority felt always sure. 

Of this noble group, John Curry, in his ninety-fourth 
year, as he recently told me, was a resourceful man, 
stalwart in body and mind, given to the law from love 
of its principles. In 1910 he still moves about the 
streets of the shattered city, — an example of the impo- 
tency of years to hamper a great spirit. That was the 
Augustine age on the Pacific from 1850 until time's 
scythe mowed down these masters of the law. 

Before we close this chapter we must speak of two 
old friends, Morris M. Estee, identified closely with 
the growth of California since his early manhood and 
deemed one of the best loved ones of the Golden State. 
Both as lawyer and legislator he left the impress of 
his thought upon the annals of California history. As 
the author of a work on Code Pleadings and Proce- 
dure, his name has been associated with code practice 
in every state of the Union wherever a code system 
prevails. 

In 1900 he was appointed by President McKinley 
to be the first United States District Judge for the Ter- 
ritory of Hawaii, where his broad, liberal type of mind, 
and keen, almost intuitive, sense of justice, impelled 
confidence in his administration of the duties of that 
Court, even from those opposed to him in opinion. 
While still in active service in Hawaii, Judge Estee 
died, in October, 1903, after three years of fine judi- 
cial work, beloved and regretted. 

And Judge James V. Coffey, who was a law student 
at the same time we were, and who with us and ten 



A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 165 

others, on April 5, 1869, sat all day long before Silas 
W. Sanderson, A. L. Rhodes, J. B. Crockett, Royal T. 
Sprague and Lorenzo Sawyer, in the Supreme Court, 
and from ten o'clock A. M. until five o'clock P. M. 
were bombarded with legal questions. Students then 
were examined in open court by the full Bench. Judge 
Coffey was easily the best equipped student of the 
class. For twenty-five years, with distinguished abil- 
ity and learning and a noble honor has Coffey pre- 
sided over one of the departments of the Superior 
Court of San Francisco. Recently celebrating his 
sixty-third birthday, he is still in his prime, and we 
want to go on reord as saying that when he retires 
from the Bench, the community will suffer a loss 
nearly akin to a public calamity. 



Chapter X 

THE PULPIT AND PULPIT ORATORS 

rpHE intellectual life of San Francisco, during the 
-*■ period dating from the dissolution of the Vigi- 
lance Committee to the building of the Central Pacific 
railroad, demanded the very best of all things; and 
the Pulpit, the Stage, the Forum and the Press re- 
sponded. A fine moral atmosphere fed the conscience 
of the masses, and lofty individual character was a 
part of the social and religious life. The Church was 
a revered institution, and to its support, by personal at- 
tendance and finance, notable citizens contributed. 
Church attendance was not mere fashion; rather the 
result of a purpose to give to its services one day in 
seven, for example of good living, even by those who 
claimed no especial spiritual relation to it. Church- 
going was a habit, and the Sabbath a day of repose and 
calm. There was no complaint of empty pews, for all 
classes found solace in the sanctuary. Noisy crowds, 
perambulating the streets with banner and band, were 
no part of the Sabbath in those days. It required no 
Sunday Law to close the business houses and places of 
amusement, to keep undisturbed the reverent silence, 
and to give to the toiler the peace of sacred hours. 

1 66 



PULPIT ORATORS 167 

The people were a law unto themselves and were obedi- 
ent nnto their own laws. The Sunday Schools of every 
church were crowded with happy children, with young 
men and maidens, with mature men and matrons. 
Women of the highest social standing, who gave char- 
acter and sweetness to the home life of the city; leading 
merchants, judges of courts, had charge of the Sunday 
Schools and gave out of their minds and hearts uplift- 
ing education. Auxiliary Bible classes, attended by 
young and old, were presided over by men of piety 
and scholarship. Here were discust, on Sundays, the 
history, life, poetry, song and revelation, exposed in 
the old Book to which mankind has looked and must 
look in all the ages, for the beauty of holiness. I was 
myself a member of one of these classes, at "Old Cal- 
vary," presided over by H. H. Haight, a leading law- 
yer, and subsequently Governor of the State. The 
membership of the class was young men, many of 
whom in the succeeding years rose at home and abroad 
to stations of honor. These Sunday hours were inspir- 
ing and many a discussion arose, which quickened to 
intense activity intellectual and moral fibers, deepened 
the sense of personal responsibility, and broadened the 
horizons of truth. A revival of such classes would be 
a good thing for the city of the present day. 

The churches were migratory, however, and there 
were only one or two in the entire city just before the 
fire that occupied their first sites, — old "St. Mary's," at 
the corner of California and Dupont Streets, just reha- 
bilitated, holds its ancient foundation. As the city 
reached out and business houses encroached upon resi- 
dential sections, the churches gave way, and moved 



i68 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

further from the center. Many have moved twice, 
notably "Calvary," 'Trinity" and the "First Unita- 
rian," formerly known as "Starr King's Church." 
There are no ancient churches in San Francisco except 
the old "Mission Dolores," established more than a 
hundred years ago by the Padres. This simple struc- 
ture, built out of the sun-dried adobe, is in a fairly 
good state of preservation, and we may have here for 
some time this lonely example of constancy, a histori- 
cal church like St. Paul's and Trinity. This old 
church is seldom seen by the tourist, unless he 
searches for it, for it stands far from the 
center, hid away on an unfrequented street. There 
is at present a newness about everything, and before 
many years men will utterly forget how the main 
city, built between 1849 ^"d 1906, looked. Noth- 
ing is familiar outside of streets and parks, except a 
few substantial structures here and there, whose walls 
stood the stress of fire and shock sufficiently to permit 
a reconstruction without material change in outward 
walls. These will stand as landmarks in coming years, 
to assist the imagination in recalling that which has 
passed away. Another half century must pass before we 
will have a history. The present generation must pass 
away before there can be either history or tradition in 
connection with the things of to-day. The fire has 
swept libraries and art galleries, with their books and 
pictures, into ashes, and a new literature and new 
paintings must come to preserve all we can know of 
the old features. 

The church life of the city was well represented in 
its denominations, — the Jews with their Synagogue 



PULPIT ORATORS 169 

among the rest. The modern cults, if they had fol- 
lowers, were modest, and were not, as now, "thick 
as leaves in Vallambrosa." While it could not be said 
that there were rivalries among the denominations, 
each demanded and had in its pulpit men of distin- 
guished zeal and of great eloquence. For some years 
San Francisco could proudly say that she had five 
of the most eloquent pulpit orators in America. Dr. 
Stone, Dr. Wadsworth, Dr. Guard, Dr. Scudder and 
Starr King, twice on each Sunday, preached great 
sermons to great congregations. These were men of 
wide scholarship, and wonderfully gifted in speech. 

Dr. Wadsworth was called to "Calvary," the leading 
Presbyterian church, after the discussions which arose 
between Dr. Scott and the larger part of his congre- 
gation because of his sympathy, openly exprest, for 
the Southern Confederacy. Dr. Scott, in the flower 
of his greatness, and he was a great man, came from 
New Orleans to fill Calvary Church, then perhaps in 
the character of its membership, its wealth and its so- 
cial standing, the most powerful religious body in the 
State. He was acceptable to the masses generally, and 
soon, in the noble church building, on Bush Street, 
between Montgomery and Sansome, became a popular 
and influential factor in the moral life of the city. He 
was a Southerner, loving the South with the strong 
sectional affection that before and during the war had 
the force of a passion. His Scotch blood gave him 
intensity of feeling and conviction. The times were 
tragic. Man lived in an atmosphere of battle, and he 
could not suppress the expression of his love for the 
South and his hope for her success. This was fatal to 



I70 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

his influence with the majority of strong men who 
were on the other side. He retired from his pulpit, 
and his retirement separated many friends, and later 
resulted in the establishment of St. John's Church, to 
which he was afterwards called as pastor. The old 
charm and power, however, were gone, and he never 
regained his old place in the esteem and affection of 
the masses, which was his before this unhappy incident. 

To this disturbed, and, in a measure, disrupted con- 
gregation, in those stormy days, came Dr. Wadsworth. 
Doubtless he profited by the example of Dr. Scott, and 
while he was a strong Union man did not preach poli- 
tics. In fact, in those days, men in the pulpit confined 
themselves to the great truths of the Scriptures, fol- 
lowed the Master in spirit and action ; found in the Ser- 
mon on the Mount, the vision of the transfiguration, 
the parables and the Ten Commandments sufficient in- 
spiration for the spiritual necessities of their congre- 
gations. A great preacher in California, in giving 
expression to the intent and purpose of his coming to 
California, preached his introductory sermon from this 
text : "I am determined to know nothing among you 
but Jesus Christ, and him crucified." 

Dr. Wadsworth was a commanding man, of large 
and robust frame. His face was full and florid, attrac- 
tive by its fine intellectual lines. His attitude and mo- 
tions were those of a man of power, conscious of his 
strength. He was eccentric in many ways, but his was 
the eccentricity of a noble nature. He was exceeding- 
ly absent-minded, given to great concentration, which 
had in it the air of modest retirement from touch with 
his fellows, as if he feared that he might be disturbed 



PULPIT ORATORS 171 

in his thought. These characteristics were marked and 
at times caused him embarrassment. We recall an 
evening when we, with others, at one of his weekly re- 
ceptions, called to see him. We found him in his 
study, although it was at a time regularly given to the 
visits of his friends. His wife notified him of our 
presence, and he came into the parlor, greeting us all 
with kindliness and cordiality. For a time he talked 
of general things, but by and by he grew silent, and 
soon left the room. He was gone for a time, and his 
wife, knowing his tendencies, excused herself for a 
moment. She had gone to hunt him up. She knew 
of his sudden moods of concentration, and of the for- 
getfulness that was a part of them. She soon returned, 
and, somewhat embarrassed, but smiling, said to us 
that the Doctor, forgetting about us, had retired. 
She begged oiir indulgence, and added that the Doctor, 
during his absence from the room, had fallen under 
the spell of his moods, and had simply forgotten that 
we were his guests. He, however, afterwards remem- 
bered the occasion and circumstances, for he had withal 
a marvelous memory, and apologized for what he 
feared might be regarded as an intentional affront. 
He said that he was at times greatly annoyed by his 
forgetfulness, but that he could hardly be charged with 
neglect when he had more than once gone to the post- 
office for his mail, and forgotten his own name! 

This peculiar forgetfulness was said to have been 
true of John Adams. It is related of him that he too, 
once, on coming away from the postoffice in Boston, 
was met by a friend who said, "Good morning, Mr. 



172 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Adams," and he replied, "Thank you, that was just 
what I was trying to remember, — my own name." 

The Doctor, in his intellectual make-up, combined 
in a wonderful way reason and imagination. In his 
sermons he reasoned like Newton and dreamed like 
Milton. He had few of the graces of the orator, none 
of the mere arts by which a public speaker charms 
his audience. He carried his eccentricities into the 
pulpit, and often startled his hearers by the quaintness 
of his gestures. One who frequently heard him said to 
us, "Wadsworth's gestures always make me think that 
he is catching at flies." This uncouthness was in a 
measure true, but as one became familiar with him, 
was moved and satisfied by the eloquence of the man, 
this peculiarity seemed so much a part of him that it 
added to his charm, and made impressive his utter- 
ances. It seemed as if carried away by his eloquence, 
he physically lifted his thought out of the mind. A 
frequent gesture as he laid his premises and reasoned 
to his conclusion, which always seemed to be upward, 
was to straighten himself upward as far as he could, 
and then, as if he subconsciously saw something yet 
above, he reached upwards with his hands, with a sort 
of impatience, as if the glory of his vision was be- 
yond his reach. It was a suggestive act, and added a 
force to his words. It was a gesture peculiarly his 
own, and no student of eloquence would have dared to 
copy it as one of the graces of oratory. It was 
great, but not graceful. He was a master of the Eng- 
lish tongue, and the beauty of his illustrations re- 
minded one often of the poetry of the Bible. The 
Psalms, whose beauty and sweetness have been the 



PULPIT ORATORS 173 

source from which generations have drawn inspiration, 
were not finer than many of the sentences of Wads- 
worth, as he rose on great occasions to the heights of 
loftiest eloquence. He was fond of logic, and delighted 
to enforce the truth as he understood it by a priori de- 
ductions. It was when enforcing some of these rea- 
sonings that he appealed to his imagination, and 
clinched the whole by some poetic outburst that capti- 
vated the heart. This power seemed to come from 
his perfect knowledge of the Scriptures, for he was a 
Biblical scholar of the old order. Higher criticism 
had not yet disturbed the learning of the Christian 
world. We can to this day recall a number of his 
wonderfully beautiful utterances. In one sermon, in 
which he was enforcing the ineffectual power of tem- 
porary things to satisfy the spirit, he said, "These 
things are as im.potent to satisfy the soul as the sickly 
scent of a dead flower is to comfort a dying man." 

Another time he illustrated the maladjustment of 
human action by saying "How often do we see 
giants spinning threads and dwarfs bearing burdens." 
And yet again, in declaring that the soul knew of its 
immortality, he used this fine sentence : "The spirit 
knows by its own consciousness that it is immortal, as 
the eagle chained in the market-place, by the instinc- 
tive flutter of its wings, knows that its home is in the 
upper deep." 

During the years that Dr. Wadsworth filled Calvary 
pulpit he preached morning and evening on each Sab- 
bath to congregations that crowded the large building 
to its fullest capacity. Here at all services were to be 
seen men from the highest ranks of business and pro- 



174 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

fessional life, the rich and the poor, the old and the 
young, the believer and the unbeliever, — all fascinated 
by the marvelous words of the mighty man. His 
congregation was not drawn from the residents of the 
city alone, for men frequently came from other cities 
to hear Dr. Wadsworth, as they now go to the Opera, 
and in one case, a gentleman, resident of Sacramento, 
made a trip to the city every Saturday afternoon for 
the purpose of being present at Calvary services during 
the Sunday. The great preacher longed always for the 
culture he had left behind in the Eastern States. The 
new life of California had no charm for him, and after 
a few years of devoted and faithful service he went 
back to Philadelphia, his old home, and became the 
pastor of one of its great churches, and within a few 
years thereafter died in the midst of his acceptable 
services. 

The old Unitarian Church was on Stockton Street, 
near Sacramento, and as the town moved south, the 
congregation moved with it, and a fine new church was 
erected on Geary Street, near Stockton. Starr King 
became pastor of the church before its removal, and it 
was due to him that the change was made. At the 
time that he was called to San Francisco he was 
preaching acceptably in Boston. In that center of 
learning and culture, though a young man, he had won 
his way, and was fast becoming noted for his nobility 
and eloquence. It was in California, however, that his 
genius expanded, and he soon became one of the 
world's great orators. He loved the city and State 
with great affection. He drank in from the sunny 
skies, the hills and the fragrant gardens, the joy of life. 



PULPIT ORATORS I75 

With him Hfe was a trust. By effort for good he grew 
in grace. He was a toiler, and endless work made up 
his days and nights. In fact, it was from the wear 
and tear of overwork that at last he became an easy 
victim of disease, which cut short, before the noon of 
his career, his priceless Hfe. In him was verified the 
sad experience of humanity that "The good die 
young." 

His personality was magnetic and winning. Gen- 
tleness radiated from him as light radiates from the 
sun. His manners and speech were gracious to all 
alike. No one could resist the fascination and charm 
of his presence. He was delicate, physically, a spiritual 
rather than a physical man. It is hard to make a pen- 
picture of his face, for there were lines too pure, 
lights too fleeting, to be caught by words. In the poise 
of his head there was nobility and power inexpressible. 
Passing on the street, to a stranger, he was always an 
object of attraction, and one, looking on him, knew 
that he was great and good. There was in his face 
the serenity of him who had seen a vision, and to 
whom the vision had become a benediction. His intel- 
lect was cast in a lofty mold, had been trained in the 
culture of New England, and ripened in the atmosphere 
of the great universities. There was breadth and depth 
and height to his mentality, sweetness and light in his 
spirit. He was bound to be, wherever his lot was 
cast, the guide and solace of the distrest. At the 
time of his death he was the first pulpit orator in 
America, and without doubt had no superior in the 
world. His abundant spirituality touched and mel- 



176 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

lowed his hearers, and he was a hard man whose soul 
did not respond to the greatness of Starr King-. 

The masses crowded to his services, and for a few 
short years he lifted up his voice to teach "the way, 
the truth, and the life." Spiritual truth was to him 
more than creed. He was not what is called orthodox, 
but believed with a mighty faith in the fatherhood of 
God, and preached it with a terrible earnestness. Sim- 
ple manhood was to him a splendid reality, and he saw 
the divine in the human always. He had no compro- 
mise with evil, sin was an abhorrence, and the salva- 
tion of man was possible only through purity of 
thought and action. He proclaimed the beauty of per- 
fect life, and sought to win men by an appeal to af- 
fection, rather than to fear. He sought to make holi- 
ness so sweet that no man could afford to lose it. His 
hunger for the pure, the beautiful and the true had in it 
the intensity of a passion. What wonder, then, that he 
was a power for the best in the life of the entire com- 
munity, and that he was beloved by friend and stranger 
alike ! 

His presence in the pulpit was commanding and gra- 
cious. He knew he was a master, and his frail body, 
under the inspiration of the services, towered like a 
giant. In him were the feature, form, and voice of the 
perfect orator. The pallor of intense thought made 
him beautiful, and his perfect voice, as he read or 
spoke, rose and fell in waves of sound, captivating the 
senses like music. It was music. The range of his 
voice was wonderful, and the deep tones were vibrant 
with richness of inflection. We never heard him that 
we did not wonder how a human being could be so 



PULPIT ORATORS 177 

gifted in our common speech. In the reading of 
hymns, poetry took on new beauty, and through him 
the texts of scripture gave out what was in the heart of 
him who wrote them. To hear him read a Psalm of 
David was the treat of a hfetime, and the parables 
were made as new as when they were first spoken in 
Judea. He had the faculty, by intonation and empha- 
sis, of making dead things become alive. He could, 
like Moses in the desert, smite a rock and make sweet 
waters gush forth. We well remember a most sub- 
lime service one Sunday in the long ago, when he had 
persuaded Annie Louise Cary, a popular opera singer 
in those days, who was in the city with an opera 
troupe, to sing a solo as a prelude to one of his ser- 
mons. After the usual service leading up to the ser- 
mon, in the choir rose a fair woman in perfect white, 
the organ pealed forth a familiar tune, and she, lifting 
her voice, in the attitude of adoration, sang the old 
song, heard a hundred times before in countless ser- 
vices, but really never heard before : 

"When I can read my title clear to mansions in the 

skies, 
I'll bid farewell to every fear and wipe my weeping 

eyes." 

A breathless silence fell upon the great crowd, and 
every eye looked upon her as if she had been an angel, 
with this m.essage from the sky. As she closed and 
poured her soul into a triumphant burst of music, a 
deep sigh of satisfaction in the audience exprest its joy 
and gratitude, and King rose to preach. He had felt 



178 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

the beauty and pathos too, and he preached as we never 
heard him before. It was a service never to be for- 
gotten. 

Starr King loved his country next to his God, and 
gave of his great Hfe to its support during the Civil 
War. He was the soul and providence of the Sanitary 
Commission, organized for the aid and relief of 
wounded and sick soldiers in camp and hospital. Cali- 
fornia was called upon to aid in money, for great ex- 
penses had to be met. King undertook the task, and 
lectured in the principal cities of the State. At one 
great mass meeting, held in Piatt's Hall, standing on 
Montgomery Street, upon the present site of the Mills 
Building, we were present, and never before or since 
have we seen or felt the power of a mere man to do 
with a great audience what he willed. Moved by his 
own strong emotions, he magnetized the audience and 
swayed them as the tempest sways the leaves of the for- 
est trees. At the climax of a matchless narrative of 
the heroism of our soldiers in the field, and of their 
terrible sufferings from disease and wounds in lonely 
hospitals, he lifted his hand in one of his gestures, al- 
most as eloquent as his words, and the audience, under 
the spell, rose to their feet and cheered for the soldiers 
of the Union. It was like the sound of many waters. 

This was the supreme moment, and he called for 
subscriptions. The response was immediate and gener- 
ous. A capitalist of the city, who was known to be 
shrewdly close, with all his means, went to the sub- 
scription table and wrote his name, and when King 
read the subscription, men looked at each other in won- 
der. The subscription read : "Five hundred dollars a 



PULPIT ORATORS 179 

month, payable on the first day of each and every 
month during the war." The magnitude of this sub- 
scription was great, for the war lasted for three more 
years. King had smitten the rock. The aggregate 
sum raised by him for the Sanitary Commission was 
in the neighborhood of three hundred thousand dollars. 

In 1864, the city heard that Starr King was dan- 
gerously ill, and his life despaired of. It was hard to 
believe that so splendid a factor in all good work could 
be in peril when so young and so necessary. The sad 
news was true, and in a day or two, men, with pale 
faces, repeated with quivering lips, one to the other, 
"Starr King is dead." And so, in the prime of his 
life, at the zenith of his achievement, before its noon, 
this sweet, great soul passed away, leaving to those 
who loved him dust and anguish. Well do we remem- 
ber that almost at the moment of his death, a minor 
earthquake shook the city, and men said, "Even the 
earth shudders at the thought that Starr King is dead." 

The Central Methodist Church, at Howard Street, 
near Second, was the center of the influence the Meth- 
odists exercised in their zone of work. It was for 
years their choicest pulpit in the city, and therefore in 
the State, and the Conferences looked to it that here 
should be a man in mental equipment and speech able to 
hold his own, and the dignity of his church, on a level 
with the distinguished ministers of other denomina- 
tions. And so here, at the time Wadsworth, King 
and others of like gifts, were filling other pulpits, Dr. 
Guard held forth to a large membership, and to a great 
outside congregation. At every service the spacious 
building was crowded. One of the remarkable features 



i8o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

of the audience here was the percentage of the young-. 
A glance at any Sunday assemblage would disclose that 
the great majority were men and women on the sunny 
side of life, many indeed in the springtime. Dr. 
Guard's sermons had a drawing power for the young. 
This was easily understood. He possest a wonderful 
imagination, and was given to extended illustrations of 
his subject. His discourses were like lectures of travel, 
illustrated by scenes of places spoken of. It was a sort 
of mental painting. This quality of speech was fasci- 
nating to the young mind, for it kept always within the 
reach of their capacities. While it satisfied and grati- 
fied, it made no severe demands upon the reason. His 
texts were given as ex cathedra declarations, and there 
was nothing to be reasoned out. Nothing was required 
but to magnify, beautify and emphasize the conceded 
truth. He preached to believers, not to those who 
questioned. This was the order of his mind. The 
truth was true, and stood without support. His of- 
fice was to extend the view, lift the people to elevations 
where the horizon should be widened, and the heavens 
exalted. 

Of the great orators we have listened to, — Beecher, 
Hall, King, Wadsworth, Puncheon, Simpson, Fowler, 
Ingersoll — we have never before or since found just 
the same quality of eloquence as was part of Guard's 
speech. There was an endless reach of descrip- 
tion. He always seemed in the land of beauty 
whose paths were endless, or ran in circles. One never 
seemed to be at the end or within its reach. His ser- 
mons were ceaseless flows of illustration. He did not 
have reason and imagination combined, as had Wads- 



PULPIT ORATORS i8i 

worth, nor did he move you by the indefinable sweet- 
ness of the man and subject, as King did. 

Dr. Guard had a pecuhar mannerism, one that al- 
ways kept his hearers in expectation. He would often 
hesitate at the close of a sentence, as if he had lost the 
thread of his thought, a mental habit he had of seeming 
to go lame. It would not be dignified to call it a trick 
of speech, but one thing was always evident when he 
quickly caught the thread, and that was that it had 
been a readjustment of his fancy, for following these 
halts he always soared into higher flights. Personally 
he was of that type that fills the Methodist pulpit. His 
manner was free and cordial, and he was a good pastor 
as well as a fine preacher. 

Dr. Stone, in the old Congregational Church at the 
corner of California and Dupont Streets, was a dis- 
tinct figure in church life. Exclusive and reserved in 
manner, he had but little of personal magnetism, but 
attracted by the signal eloquence of his discourses. He 
was brilliant, and satisfied intellectual tastes, but seldom 
warmed the blood with the passion of desire. He had 
the mien and voice of the scholar. He loved the 
Schools, and in his sermons drew his illustrations from 
them. His literary taste was delicate, and a rude form 
of expression would have been to him a pain. Smooth, 
shining and beautiful was the flow of his speech. His 
modulated voice was set to a perfect key, and words 
flowed as if they were obedient to some gravitation 
within the mind. Clean-cut and polished was every 
phrase in which he gave utterance to his thought. His 
discourses were as perfect and symmetrical as a Cor- 
inthian column carved from Parian marble, and as se- 



i82 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

rene, — no sweeping toward the heavens in great bursts 
of word? that thrilled. There were no arts of inflec- 
tion ; all was like the tide of a noble river, flowing be- 
tween banks of trees and flowers, majestic in the sun. 
His charm was in the placid utterance of brilliant 
thought. His brain was a storehouse from which he 
drew at will. There was no hesitation, for he was a 
master in preparation and brought to the pulpit the 
fruition of the study. He never fell below the line of 
great excellence in his work. There was never any 
disappointment to his congregation. They were al- 
ways sure to receive that for which they came. His 
capacity, for the high class work he did filled his 
church, was great, altho in later years he broke some- 
what under the steady strain and retired, a worn man, 
full of well-earned honors in a high place. 

Dr. Stone's genius and attainments were the posses- 
sion of the entire Congregational Church. He was well 
known in all parts of the Union, and no mention of 
its greatest men could be had which did not include 
him in the front rank. The history of religious life 
and thought was enriched by the purity of his life and 
the fineness of his great mental gifts. 

The last of the quintette of great pulpit orators, who 
filled pulpits in San Francisco, was Dr. Scudder, who 
occupied the Mission Street Presbyterian Church, just 
opposite the Grand Opera House. Dr. Scudder was 
born in India, the son of the well-known missionary 
to that country. The son was educated in India and 
had acquired the acute mental acumen which has dis- 
tinguished the scholars of that ancient land. He was 
a fine scholar in the literatures of the East, was per- 



PULPIT ORATORS 183 

fectly familiar with their faiths and cults. He was 
also of wide erudition in the learning of his own land, 
and intuitively made use of both cultures. His distin- 
guishing quality was the capacity to reason down to 
conclusions almost too fine for the slow and ponderous- 
ly moving mental machinery of the average Western 
mind. He often dove too deep or soared too high for 
minor understanding. All of this, however, had a 
good office, for he compelled a close concentration on 
the part of his hearer, and no mere lazy listener could 
hope to understand what Dr. Scudder said. He was a 
master of Oriental reasoning, although he seasoned it 
with the fresher Occidental lore. There was an ultra 
fineness in his thought, as if it had been ground to a 
razor edge. It was glittering and keen, pierced the 
waste places of the mind and woke into life faculties 
that had grown dormant through misuse. There was 
in his speech the tracery of Oriental imagery and often 
the poetry of his sentences was exquisite. He draped 
his figures of speech with the laces of wisdom, and the 
fascination was in both thought and utterance. His 
faith was robustly orthodox, and he had in no respect 
been harmed by the occult environment of his youth 
and education. It was a liberal education to sit under 
him. He illustrated truth frequently by appeals to 
things that were part of the oldest lands under the sun. 
He contrasted the old faith of the Hindoo with the life 
of the Christian, and made clear to the mind the rea- 
sons of both. He often alluded to the conditions of 
human life, with its poverty, caste and squalor that the 
religions of the East had left unsoftened during the 
centuries, and in the radiance of Calvary compared 



i84 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

them with the product of the Man of GaHlee and His 
teachings. Such was the opportunity of this skilled 
master, and in this knowledge and its application to hu- 
man conditions he had no rival. He combined the 
knowledge and the genius of both lands. 

There were minor men in those days doing good 
work, who were far above the ordinary preacher of the 
present day. They were, however, lesser lights, and 
their efforts were lost in the splendor of larger men. 
It would be a difficult task to-day to gather together 
in. any city of the world five men who would, in purity 
of personal character, loftiness of spirit and might of 
mind, equal Wadsworth, King, Guard, Stone and Scud- 
der. Great men were everywhere here then, for it 
was a great day in the city, — great in everything but 
mere numbers of people, and the records of many of 
those lives have been lost beyond the regathering. This 
was a result of the fire, for these records can not be 
rebuilt as can be the modern market place or the bank. 
The immortal has perished, and men for ages will 
suffer loss. 

Before we close this chapter it may be well to glance 
at a few of those who were among us for a time only, 
as strangers within our gates, who out of their abun- 
dance gave unto our treasury. There was a natural at- 
traction to California of many great men, who could 
not resist the coming, even when the journey was one 
of toil and discomfort. The Annual Conference of the 
Methodist Church called here her Bishops, and it has 
been the glory of that old Church that her Bishops 
have been men of piety and eloquence. It was always 
a day of intense expectation when it was announced 



PULPIT ORATORS 185 

that some famed Bishop would hold services m a city 
church. Here we have heard Peck, Simpson, Bowman 
and Fowler, Each, after his own method and order, 
unsurpassed in gifts of mind and heart, was of massive 
mold, and their lips "dripped with the honey of the 
Attic bee." 

Peck was a ponderous man, weighing more than 
three hundred pounds. A very mountain of flesh, he 
had, however, a great physical capacity and seemed as 
agile as an athlete. He, as men of such bigness usually 
have, had a sunny nature, and made sunshine where- 
ever he went by his genial presence. His smile was 
beneficent and inspiring. Often have we heard him in 
the pulpit, and here we forgot the physical proportions 
of the man in his mind sweep. He had a wonderful 
breadth of vision, — the world and its afflictions, its sin 
and suffering. Its struggling masses moved him to 
tenderness of speech, and when speaking of such mat- 
ters he used to spread out his great arms as if he would 
clasp and hold them all by his strength against the 
shock of the storm. His was a great soul in a great 
body, and his people loved him with a great love. 

Bishop Simpson was just the opposite of Peck m 
physical structure, and was the unchallenged head of 
the College of Bishops. He was a most remarkable 
man in every way, so great that his influence could 
not be bounded by his relation to or his affiliation with 
his Church, — could not be bounded even by any race. 
He was truly a man of the world, recognized for his 
matchless qualities of mind and spirit. In person he 
was tall, rather ungainly, much like Lincoln in this 
respect, whom he greatly resembled in mental and 



i86 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

moral traits, and by whom he was greatly honored. 
His face, except for its spiritual illuminations, would 
have been unhandsome. His forehead, from the pe- 
culiar slant of the head, looked low, but it could not 
have been so and been a part of the brain of such a man. 
I once heard a gentleman say, after having seen and 
heard him in one of his services, "Simpson looked 
like a spiritualized prizefighter." This came from the 
shape of his head and forehead. He stood among 
the great figures of the world, and his character added 
luster to the American Church, irrespective of denomi- 
nation. He was at once the foundation and the pillar 
of ecclesiastic virtue wherever the Christian religion 
was offered to men as the way of life. Once heard, he 
could never be forgotten, for no life would be long 
enough to make one willing to forget the man and his 
work. 

Nothing could more perfectly illustrate hrs power 
than a simple story of one of his meetings in the 
Grand Opera House on Mission Street, years ago: It 
had been advertised that the Bishop would preach, and 
it was known that there was but one house in San 
Francisco that would hold the vast throng that would 
flock to hear him, and so the Opera House was se- 
cured. At ten o'clock the vast auditorium was jammed 
from pit to dome, and the stage crowded, with only 
room enough left for the preacher. It was a great 
audience, made up of rich and poor, young and old, 
the halt, the lame and the blind, black, yellow and 
white, — a vast cosmopolitan crowd, gathered together 
as if the world had been searched for an audience. 
It was an impressive hour, arid the Bishop afterwards 



PULPIT ORATORS 187 

said that it was the grandest audience to which he 
had ever preached. A deep silence settled upon the vast 
mass as the Bishop rose to preach. He was full of 
majesty, and there was in his face the light of a divine 
power. He stated his text as follows : "And every 
knee shall bow to and every tongue shall confess Jesus 
Christ.'' Beginning with the simple story of Christ's 
birth, the fulfilment of prophecy in that event, his mar- 
velous youth, and his glorious development, he lifted 
his audience by his narration into a realm of history, 
prophecy and fulfilment. He led them along the way 
of the new gospel for the remission of sins, — step by 
step, carried them from summit to summit until the 
audience was at the tensest strain. But he was the 
master. He knew how and when to remove the ten- 
sion, and this he did at the climax, when with a voice 
ringing as a trumpet, strong, passionate and prophetic, 
he quoted his text. The mass was too wrought up for 
silence, there must be relief and it came; for as he 
closed and turned to his seat, a thunderous applause 
shook the house, round after round, like the thunder 
of the sea on a rocky coast. There was no pause to 
the tumult. No one cared to stay it, for a crowd from 
the world was cheering the victory of Christ. What a 
triumph for the man, his mission and his effort. 
Doubtless no more inspiring audience ever stood in 
the presence of a great preacher, and so triumphantly 
responded to the majesty of his subject. Thousands 
were there — sinners and saints — all moved by a com- 
mon pride in Christ, all by common impulse cheering 
the vision of His supremacy in the world. .\t this mo- 



i88 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ment everything was great, — a great man, a great audi- 
ence and a great theme. 

Bishop Fowler was excelled by no orator of his day. 
He possest an exquisite imagination, v/hich he used as 
a sculptor does his chisel to hew from the dead stone 
forms of beauty imperishable. The commonest cir- 
cumstance in his hands was made of interest, and the 
large things of the world grew larger under his mag- 
netic touch. He had a rare habit of climbing the 
heights, instead of soaring above them. He was like 
one who has made the ascent of a great mountain but 
lingered a while in the valley at its base, — long enough 
to feel the cool of grateful shade, to lie down by the 
laughing streams, to cull the blossoms and to drink in 
their fragrance, to bend his ear to the song of the bird, 
and then, lifting his eye toward the sky he climbed, 
but not with toil, toward the heavens. Now and then 
he halted, that the expanding horizon might reveal the 
grandeur of the world. And thus from height to 
height he led his hearers delighted to the summit, 
where as a climax he waved his hands in a salute to 
the beauty of the world. He was a splendid being, 
rarely graceful in form, with a face as fine as a cameo. 
If "beautiful" could be fairly applied to a man, one 
could truly say that Fowler was beautiful. It was the 
beauty of an exquisite niind and soul radiating every 
feature, and refining every animal line. This fineness 
held the eye like a picture, and it added greatly to the 
grace of speech. A musical voice was added to other 
perfections, and in the completeness of noble manhood, 
he was a model for a sculptor. No one having heard 
Dr. Fowler once could ever fail to do so again when 



PULPIT ORATORS 189 

opportunity offered. He deservedly ranked high in the 
councils of his Church, and was one of her chief or- 
naments. 

In addition to the frequent visits of the great 
Bishops, we were honored by the presence of other 
learned men, who were lured to our shores by our re- 
pute. Beecher at one time lectured and preached here. 
De Witt Talmadge also. Dr. Hall of New York, and 
Morley Puncheon, the brilliant English Methodist, who 
many years ago delivered a series of lectures that for 
range of information, beauty of diction and splendor 
of imagery have never been equaled in later days. 
Two of his lectures, "Bunyan, the Royal Dreamer" 
and "The Huguenots," were masterpieces of the lec- 
turer's art. He preached several times, but his power 
as a lecturer was greater than as a preacher. In this 
he was the opposite of Beecher, who was a great and 
unsurpassed pulpit figure, but not always so happy on 
the rostrum. He never seemed to catch the spirit un- 
less he was in his accustomed place amid his moral en- 
vironment, 



Chapter XI 

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER AND 
ITS IMMORTALS 

BEFORE me lies an old photograph of a group of the 
stock company of the California Theater when 
it was a famous playhouse, where once gathered men 
and women of genius and fame. It was a happy 
family of free souls, held together hy a community of 
love and interest. Among these well remembered 
faces there look out of the photograph many of the 
world's stars, who came at intervals from other lands, 
to shine for a time in these Western heavens : Edwin 
Booth, Barry Sullivan, Charles Matthews, E. A. 
Sothern. Edwin Adams, Mrs. D. P. Bowers, Madame 
Janauscheck, John E. Owens, and others of like re- 
pute. This old picture was taken by Bradley & Ru- 
lofson, famous photographers, whose work was the 
perfection of their art. Before the fire of 1906 swept 
many like things into ashes, there could be found in 
private hands and in public libraries many groups like 
this, of people whose character and work entitled 
them to grateful remembrance. Since, these pictures 
have become priceless, and are held by those who own 
them as precious as jewels. 

The popular actor and actress, more than any other 
190 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 191 

professional, are near the heart of the people, when 
they are kindly, and to those who frequent the theater 
become dear by ties strong and personal. There is not 
a theater patron of the days when the "California" 
was in its glory, who can forget when it numbered 
among its regular actors John McCullough, Lawrence 
Barrett, Harry Edwards, John Wilson, John T. Ray- 
mond, William Mestayer, Louis James, H. J. Mon- 
tague, — the beautiful soul whose light went out sud- 
denly one fateful night upon its stage, — and such sweet 
and womanly women as Mrs. Judah, Mrs. Saunders, 
Sophie Edwin, Bella Pateman, Alice Harrison, Katie 
Mayhew, Dickie Lingard, Zelda Seguin, Annie Pixley 
Alice Dunning and Lotta Crabtree. 

The heart grows sweet and sad with memories, as 
we look upon these faces and write these names. How 
they dignified and broadened the drama when popular 
taste would have none but the choicest of the masters. 
Shakespeare in the hands of Booth and Sullivan, Mc- 
Cullough and Barrett, crowded the house. "The Ro- 
mance of a Poor Young Man," with Montague mak- 
ing it a sweet story, was sure of a great audience, and 
John E. Owens with "The Cricket on the Hearth" 
drew tears from multitudes. It would be an education 
elevating and beneficient, if for a single week the new 
city could have the old theater with its old plays illus- 
trated by the old masters. 

Pure cultivated taste in dramatic art in those days 
was not confined to the "California." It is univer- 
sal, and other theaters were careful to keep their 
work up to the highest standard. We remember when 
Ristori, the peerless Italian, held forth at the little 



T92 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Bush Street theater, and Edwin Forrest, and the 
young-er Keane dehghted audiences at Maguire's Opera 
House. Concentrating forces were, however, at work, 
and slowly but surely the "California" became the center 
of legitimate drama, and finally for some years to it 
were drawn all of the stars that drifted westward, and 
here they loved to be, for they were sure of welcome 
appreciation by the public, and of delightful personal 
friendships with men and women in private life, 
whose hearts were open and warm. In these days of 
circuits and trusts, when whole companies are trans- 
ported with the play and scenery, back and forth across 
the continent, the patron of to-day does not quite un- 
derstand the plan of the time when theaters were com- 
pelled to maintain a stock of competent and gifted per- 
formers qualified at all times to support the star, who 
was the sole importation. They must be familiar with 
tragedy, comedy and melodrama, — ready to play Ham- 
let, Richelieu, Virgittitis, Sparticus, A Trip to the 
Moon, The Tivo Orphans, Marie Antoinette, Rip Van 
Winkle and Lord Dundreary. We doubt whether there 
were ever gathered together under one roof, for so long 
a time, so many fine actors and actresses as were for 
years maintained by the "California Theater." 

When ilie system yielded to business methods, and 
the theater declined to a purely commercial venture, 
where the box office was more to be considered than 
the stage, the old theater families were broken up, and 
there was a constant change of face and personality in 
the actors. Necessarily there can not exist between 
the public and the theater the strong personal touch 
that existed when the man in the seat knew and loved 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 193 

the man on the stage and was concerned with his suc- 
cess. The actor is no more a man about the town, a 
famihar figure to thousands who, though perhaps not 
personally acquainted, feel free to salute him as he 
passes them on the street and invite him to partake of 
a friendly "smile." Poor, genial John McCullough had 
more friends than any man in San Francisco, when he 
was one of the managers, as well as one of the actors at 
the "California." Montague, Wilson and Edwards had 
a host of such friends who had for them a fine and 
genuine regard. 

Mrs. Judah was accepted as mother to everybody, 
and Sophie Edwin was regarded with the affection ac- 
corded to a sister. The score of an opera was no more 
complete than was the fitting in of the membership to 
the demands of the drama. It mattered not what hu- 
man experience or feeling needed illustration, the fit 
instruments were at hand ; they worked together in 
harmony as perfect as the keys to the pipes of an organ. 
Despair and hope, the fine uplift of pure thought, and 
the deep designs of the depraved, found equal inter- 
pretation in skilled hands. The claim that the stage 
should be educational, make vice hideous and virtue 
attractive, was justified by the steady allegiance of 
managers and actors to high ideals. During the years 
that this house was the home of the legitimate drama, 
it maintained unsullied the best traditions of the stage 
in personnel and conduct. Scandal kept its unclean 
hands off its reputation. The psychology that gives 
to inanimate things a character ; that with human 
traits ennobles them with excellence or makes them re- 
pulsive with ungracious features, had its work in fix- 



194 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ing the repute of the old house. Its atmosphere was 
sweet and wholesome, and the very walls were eloquent 
of refinement and peace. People went there not only 
for amusement but for rest, — inspiration to the mind 
and consolation to the spirit. Refinement was a pres- 
ence unmarred by the monstrosities of modern fash- 
ions. The auditorium was not a show place for ladies' 
absurd fashions, but rather the reposeful circle where 
the people in dignity found delight in the artificial 
world on the stage, where lofty creations of genius 
were made familiar by the lips of men and women 
worthy to repeat the great things that had been the 
gift to mankind from all lands and by all generations. 
The Roman Brutus walked in his majesty through 
the corrupt Senate ; the Merchant of Venice demanded 
again his pound of flesh ; Portia preached of the qual- 
ity of mercy; lago. crafty and treacherous, played upon 
the passions of the jealous Moor, and the lean and 
hungry Cassius conspired, during the watches of the 
night, against the mighty Caesar. Again, amid the 
splendid temptations of Egypt and the witchery of 
Cleopatra, Antony threw away his empire for the dal- 
liance. Here the quaint Rip Van Winkle was resur- 
rected from the dead and made a living man, dissolute 
but sweet with lovable humanities. Across the stage 
walked the stately processions ; grave and reverend 
seigneurs, dainty queens, old men crowned with honor, 
young men fronting the future in the possession of hope, 
and sweet maidens, shy and winning, unsullied as the 
lilies growing in the radiance of the summer sun. 
'The Girl from Rector's," even "The Merry Widow," 
would have knocked long at the doors of the "Califor- 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 195 

nia" for admittance, but "The Music Master" and 
"The Auctioneer" would have been welcome guests. 
The stage, like modern institutions, has become in- 
volved in finance, and if the "Squaw Man" brings the 
dollars, he becomes a welcome gentleman, while "Ham- 
let" becomes more melancholy because he looks upon 
empty benches, where once he was welcomed by breath- 
less audiences. We doubt whether Booth now, with his 
wonderful gifts, could make "Hamlet" acceptable to a 
paying audience in this modern city, that boasts more 
of its pleasure-loving quality than it does of its sedate 
and steady manhood. There was no prudery, no false 
assumption of virtue, and the old theater was whole- 
some. It was the logical product of existing condi- 
tions, and the stage was then the reflex of the heart 
and conscience of the public. Morals, like water, have 
their gravitations, and both rise to high altitudes only 
when the sources are lofty. The two decades follow- 
ing the Vigilance Committee had imprest upon them 
the personal character of the men who made its 
rank and file. The fineness gave tone to life as age 
gives tone to a violin, and to the bouquet of wine. Sin- 
gle individuals have even so imprest themselves upon 
historic eras : Greece had its age of Pericles, Rome its 
age of Augustus, and Britain its age of Elizabeth. It 
were vain to pine for the glory of dead years, but those 
who were among them may without egotism speak of 
their fragrance, altho it may be the fragrance of 
flowers laid upon the tomb, but their sweetness fasci- 
nates the senses and by the law of relation quickens 
memories. These pages may be read by some of the 
Old Guard, and to them will be touched up as an artist 



196 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

touches up an old picture and makes fresh again faces 
and forms once instinct with joy and the grace of noble 
living. 

We have been familiar with the lot upon which the 
old theater stood, and have seen it lying in the sun four 
times as bare ground. As a boy we passed down Bush 
Street before the site was occupied by any building. 
We watched afterwards the excavation for the theater, 
then its demolishment for the new structure, and now 
again the bare lot is a desolate place left by the fire of 
1906. The evolution of the new city is revolutionizing. 
Business and local centers have shifted, population 
has drifted, and residential centers are vacant, and out 
of the confused hesitation of improvement the future is 
uncertain. All is and will be new. Historic associa- 
tion will have no part in the readjustment of condi- 
tions. In a few short years men will forget where once 
stood structures that exprest the hope and aspira- 
tion of those who builded when the city was first as- 
suming its permanence. Bush street has lost its ancient 
prestige, and its theaters will soon cease to be remem- 
bered except in old books. 

The magnitude of the destruction, the pathos of the 
disaster of 1906, is exprest more in moral loss, in the 
eclipse of history and the perishing of conditions, than 
in the destruction of buildings. Beyond the shock 
and the tongue of flame is the fame of those who, in 
strength and glory of days when life was buoyant and 
hopes were golden, contributed out of the beauty of 
their minds and the sweetness of their hearts to that 
richness of life that made San Francisco fascinating to 
the world, rivaling cities to whose building the centu- 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 197 

ries had yielded the treasures of art and experience. 
The city of to-day, more ambitious in architecture, 
still boasts of the spirit of its first builders. In the ac- 
tive minds of those who were their contemporaries are 
still preserved recollections of their form and face. 
Loving lips are still warm and eloquent in praise of 
the love and faith and heroism of the master builders 
of pioneer days. What of the future when these con- 
temporaries shall set sail for the shores of the eternal 
morning? Have we been faithful to the preserva- 
tion of the records of priceless lives ? Have we made 
certain the narratives of individual careers whose no-i 
bility illustrated how nearly divine the mere human 
may become when exigency strips off the instinct of 
the animal, and there enters into action, as the domi- 
nant energy of life, self-sacrifice, service and charity? 
Have we in marble or canvas given to our great dead 
immortality? We are too young yet, possibly, for re- 
gret, but the sorrow of years to come will be that we 
have been careless of our matchless citizenship- The 
chaplets we shall weave will be of dead blossoms gath- 
ered along trails we have allowed to grow dim. 

But let us go back to Bush Street, and rebuild the 
old theater, and sit down in its auditorium, under its 
vaulted dome, comfortable in its spacious aisles, where 
wholesome air and radiant lights are prophetic of the 
satisfaction which will come to us before the night shall 
close. Waller Wallace, father of Edna, one of the 
ushers, shows us to our seats, and David Warfield, 
now famous in "The Auctioneer" and "The Music 
Master," in another aisle performed like service for 
others. It is not an audience of strangers, for the "Cali- 



198 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

fornia" did not depend upon a floating population for 
patrons. Its audiences were of steady allegiance. The 
fine taste, that made San Francisco for years the des- 
pair of the charlatan and the joy of merit, was fostered 
by the education of the masses to high ideals by the 
performances at the old playhouse. As this education 
became fixt, people were as regular in attendance al- 
most as students are at the University. Men and 
women studied the drama because it was worthy of 
study, and made enticing by the eloquent impersona- 
tion of fine minds. They took their books with them 
and between acts read what was to follow. 

During one of Edwin Booth's engagements, there 
was a revival in the study of Shakespeare, and during 
the intermissions at the plays, many a head could be 
seen earnestly bending over books, refreshing memory 
with the dialog, the poetry and the philosophy of 
Hamlet, the Merchant of Venice or Othello. This 
same* course was pursued when Barry Sullivan for 
weeks made his great Richard a familiar character, 
almost with the flesh and blood of a contemporary. 

This relation of the resident citizens made the in- 
come of the theater almost- as steady as the revenues 
of a bank, and its clientage was as certain. While 
we wait for the rise of the curtain we watch the incom- 
ing audience, for this was an" education as to the citizen- 
ship of the city. Merchants like Coleman, whose 
ships gathered up the products of the climes, bankers 
like Ralston, whose financial genius was the framework 
upon which the State's expansion was built, whose 
energy and courage gave strength and courage to 
trade; physicians like Toland, whose skill is a part 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 199 

of the history of disease and its alleviation, lawyers 
like McAllister, profound and eloquent, judges like 
Sanderson, whose wisdom was quoted as authority in 
the forums of the world, — stalwart men, all young or 
middle-aged, for there were no old men in those days, 
from all ranks, whose integrity of action was a pro- 
verb; wives and mothers, fresh and gracious, who 
beautified the social life with all womanly graces, dam- 
sels dainty as lilies, graceful as fawns, in whose cheeks 
came and went the tint of perfect health as the rose 
and the violet comes and goes in the dawn. This was 
just an ordinary night's audience, but it was a great 
one in all human qualities, and made* men, when 
absent from home, boast that they were Californians. 
John McCullough and Lawrence Barrett, the first 
managers of the "California" were both actors of great 
talent and took part in all performances. They" were 
widely apart in personality, each a perfect type of the 
actor. McCullough was of great physical build, and 
overflowed with kindliness. He was genial John to 
everybody. He took the world at its swing, was fond 
of good things to eat and drink, and where good 
fellowship was to be found he was there also. He had 
the Bohemian instinct and indulged it. It was this 
indulgence, perhaps, that clouded his mind before his 
death with the tragedy of delusions. For years about 
town, in the robustness of his splendid figure, he lived 
in happy indifference to the frailty of human capacity 
to defy inexorable natural laws. He worked without 
tire in his profession, and then gave hours oi needed 
rest to pleasures. His temperament was at once a 
blessing and a curse. It attracted and held hosts of 



200 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

friends; made him a successful actor, but led him into 
fatal environments that as the years went by poisoned 
the springs of strength and sapped the vigor that in his 
young manhood seemed too abundant for decay. It 
led him to play with destiny and to chance the future 
with recknessness. The decrepit stricken shadow of 
the man, cared for by his fellows because reason had 
fled, was a pathetic residium of the radiant, athletic, 
living John McCullough, the happy chief of Bohem- 
ians, who on the stage in his prime seemed at variance 
with his genius unless in Sparticus, Virginius or 
Brutus, he found an outlet for his glorious strength. 
He crowded his years too close together and wasted 
them in prodigality. As an actor he was fond of the 
historic; his favorite characters were those who had 
stirred their times with deeds of valor. He loved the 
parts of heroic men, and rose to his finest exposition 
of passion in the wide open spaces of action, where 
native races fought in personal grapple and exprest 
their loves by violence. 

There was vehemence in his action. He was no 
noisy ranter that tore passion to tatters. His love was 
for things that were strong, for wild, free life un- 
marred by the restraints of culture, for the freedom 
of existence in the woods and hills, for empire won 
and kept by force. How we recall his splendid action 
in Sparticus, how he reveled in his defiance, and made 
his audience thrill with the desperate courage of the old 
gladiator as he flung with supreme scorn his defiance 
into the face of Rome. He towered in the cruel virtue 
of Virginius. There was something terrible in his ac- 
tion as he unfolded his sense of honor mightier than 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 201 

his love. Men felt the sternness of the Roman man- 
hood, the cleanliness of soul, that in her wholesome 
days made her the mistress of the world. What awful 
dignity he gave to Brutus when he stood before 
Caesar, and for Rome's freedom gave the fatal stab to 
his friend. The majesty of Rome seemed concentrated 
in his face as the swaying figure of her great son 
wailed out to him "And thou, too, Brutus !" And the 
supreme quality of apology for the desperate slaughter 
of his friend did he express as looking upon the still 
form he said, as if to reach the departing soul, "Not 
that I loved Caesar less, but Rome more." How real 
to us young lads did these great exhibitions seem. The 
centuries seemed to shrink into the present, the dead 
to become alive, and history became a series of con- 
temporaneous events, and we felt to its utmost the debt 
of the present to the past, the relation of the centuries 
to man's development. From personal experience it 
was apparent to us at the old "California Theater" that 
the stage, when its high character is preserved, is of 
the highest educational value. 

Barrett was the direct opposite of McCullough. The 
differences may have been the attraction that brought 
them together, first as actors and then as partners in 
the management of the theater. Their first experience 
in San Francisco was as the support of Edwin Forrest 
at the Maguire Opera House. They were great 
favorites with the sterling old actor, and as his sup- 
port in a line of Shakespearean characters made his 
California engagement a great artistic success. At 
the close Forrest left California forever, and the young 
men were offered the control of the "California" as its 



202 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

managers. It was their first venture in this field, bin 
they were equal to the occasion and fulfilled every ex- 
pectation. For years they carried the theater on with 
artistic, moral and financial success. 

Barrett, so ran the tradition, was born in a lowly 
place, but with great ambitions. His hunger for 
knowledge was a passion, and, thanks to the opportu- 
nities of the American school system, at an early age 
he was able to escape from his depressing environ- 
ment and launch out into the wide field of endeavor 
open to every boy with ambition, good habits and in- 
dustry. In his early youth he was attracted to the 
stage and climbed up by hard work to its highest 
places. He possest great gifts and cultivated them 
with unwearying care. Although of lowly origin, he 
was an aristocrat, and as he advanced in his profes- 
sion became austere, exclusive and hard of approach. 
He had no popular traits, and while he was admired 
on the stage in his professional work, he failed to en- 
dear himself to his associates or to the public. He 
drew his audiences by sheer ability and captivated 
them through their minds. It was a general under- 
standing among those who were patrons of the house 
that he was not loved by those under him, for he was 
a martinet and insisted upon accuracy in the minutest 
details. He was of slight frame, but it was knit to- 
gether as if made of steel. Straight as a Corinthian 
column, there was grace and elasticity in every motion, 
and he never forgot the dignity that was a controlling 
factor of his temperament. He was cold and glitter- 
ing as a polished blade, cynical and sarcastic. He was 
an exquisite, and always drest with scrupulous regard 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 203 

for the latest fashion. He was doubtless the best 
drest man in San Francisco. If daintiness may be 
applied to the habits of a man, Barrett was dainty. 

This quality was carried into his professional garb, 
and it mattered not what character he portrayed, he 
was ahvays the same clean-cut figure of perfection. 
Barring a sneer that seemed at home on his lips, he 
was exceedingly handsome; a piercing brown eye, in 
which there was the light of intense intellectuality, 
illuminated the severely classical lines from brow to 
chin. A nervous spirit worked in and out of these 
lines in varying lights and shadows. It was the face 
of the actor, capable of expressing the wide range of 
human passion. His face was the instrument of his 
mind, or perhaps we might say its mirror, except that 
a mirror is passive and there was nothing passive in 
Barrett, for he was always keyed to a high pitch and 
worked under the impulse of a tremendous mental 
stimulus. He was a fine scholar, loved books, and 
gave to them the affection he seemed to deny to his 
associates. He was esthetic in taste. This gave him 
the artistic poise, which he carried into all of his im- 
personations. He could play the villian with con- 
summate skill and reveal with a rare analysis the 
springs of action within the mind of the villian, but it 
must be a villain of high class, who clothed his acts 
with the manners and movements of a gentleman. We 
never saw him in the part of a coarse scoundrel, and 
we believe that it would have been impossible for him 
to have endured the task of exposing the brutal rufifian- 
ism of a Bill Sykes. 

In lago, Barrett was great. The character of this 



204 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

insinuating, calculating schemer had evidently been to 
him a psychological study, for in its portraiture he 
revealed a masterly conception of the motives that 
moved the histrionic villain in all of his actions. In this 
character he had no equal on the contemporary stage, 
and we doubt if his equal has appeared since. Booth, 
with all his equipment of mind and heart, his meta- 
physical genius, his grace of body, magnetic eye, and 
face of a mystic, did not rise to or descend to, how- 
ever it may have been, the keen analytical exposure 
of the moods of lago as Barrett did. This we know 
by comparison, for during one of Booth's memorable 
engagements, when he fascinated us all with his great 
conceptions, he and Barrett played together in Othello. 
They alternated in Othello and lago, and we had 
an opportunity to compare them, for they played 
on successive nights, and the action was so close to- 
gether that memory v^as able to parallel the perform- 
ances, and the consensus of opinion was that Barrett 
was the greater lago. This would seem impossible 
to one who had not seen Barrett but had been under 
the spell of Booth, as with facial beauty and melodious 
sweetness of voice he read the immortal text. Of 
course Booth's lago was a portraiture, keen, true, 
impressive, practically beyond the reach of descrip- 
tion, — could be felt only, not spoken, — but withal 
there was in Barrett's interpretationj a something 
Booth did not have, — that* intangible, evanescent, 
mental light and shadow which lay deep in lago's 
ego, not expressible in his speech alone or fore- 
shadowed in his designs: All of this Barrett caught 
and exposed, — a glance, an uplift of the chin, a subtle 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 205 

suggestion in gesture, a frown or smile, the quick hid- 
ing of a half-exposed thought. Barrett was for the 
time lago and lived with the Moor and preyed upon 
his weakness with the mastery of intrigue. As Othello 
he did not reach the excellence of Booth, and fell below 
him in the portrayal of the Moor in the passion of 
his jealousy and the despairful conclusion of his crime. 
We greatly suspect that when they were on the stage 
together in this play no stage had ever presented so per- 
fect a picture of Shakespeare's thought, as he wrote 
this tragedy of passion. 

As a reader of the text, Barrett had no superior. 
He had as a scholar become familiar with its beauty 
and rhythm; with its philosophy that measured the 
rise and fall of all human passions, the depths and the 
heights of nobility possible to a human soul. He 
knew the exact relation of every punctuation mark, 
and phrased the sonorous sentences so that sense and 
melody were one. His articulation was clear and per- 
fect, and his accent placed where the text needed illu- 
jrJnation. How often in the theater now do we pine 
with Tennyson for "the sound of a voice that is still." 
Barrett's voice was musical, resonant, and carried into 
the remotest part of the house like the tone of a sweet 
bell. 

The same cynicism that made Barrett an unap- 
proachable lago gave to his Cassius a like excellence. 
The picture of the physical man was complete as 
Caesar speaking of him said, "Yond, Cassius, hath a 
lean and hungry look." One having seen Barrett's 
make-up could never after read those lines without 
at once bringing before the mind the face and attitude 



2o6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

of Barrett at the moment of these critical words. It 
was a perfect piece of word-painting and fitted the 
actor as perfectly as a Roman garb. While in some 
characters that fitted his own mental moods Barrett's 
facial play was a study, he did not have the facile 
breadth of expression that Booth had. Booth had in 
this respect no limitations. It was a part of his mental 
and moral capacities ; it was the mirror he held up to 
nature. Barrett had his limitations, beyond which it 
seemed impossible to go. His sneer had frozen on his 
face, and while it made him a perfect lago and Cassius, 
it marred the features that were a part of a character 
whose life was sweet. There was no gracious con- 
descension in Barrett's smile ; his was the smile of the 
scorner, who had drunk deeply out of life's spring, 
bitter waters, and upon whose lips dead-sea apples had 
turned to ashes. We have written this as a portrait 
of the actor. Doubtless under all this surface of scorn, 
which was but a demeanor, there was a heart of flame, 
which down in the silent places was nourished by a 
sweetness too sacred for speech. He was a clean, 
honest man, earning his place in the world by toil and 
holding his honors without reproach. He, more than 
any one, by his careful attention to minor details, by 
high ideals, by a strict discipline in professional work 
on the part of those under him, built up the Cali- 
fornia Theater, and during his administration made it 
a famous center of art. He died revered for his ster- 
ling worth, and left a vacancy in the ranks of great 
men in his profession, and, taking him for all in all, we 
may never look upon his like again. 

Life drifts at times along: the levels of the unevent- 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 207 

ful, — a steady monotony between dawn and sunset, — 
days in which the spirit's only comfort is that "not 
enjoyment and not sorrow is our destined end or 
way." Just as we begin to wonder if we are destined 
to endless plains, the vision changes and we see in 
the distance heights lifting into the bUie of perfect 
skies, visions of clear waters in the sunlit meadows, 
cool aisles of darkling woods, and sphinx-like the face 
of cliffs, the tower of crags toward the sun, and hear 
the voices that make nature's cathedral musical with 
the full-throated sweetness of bird songs, and the 
voices of the trees when their leaves swing in the 
dalliance of the breeze. These are the soul's hours when 
the animal lies down and we rise to our first estate. 
Memory treasures up our great moments to repro- 
duce them again when we are weary and the mind 
sags under its load. Such are hours when we go 
back over the years and sit down in the old theater 
and let imagination have her perfect work. We hear 
again Zelda Seguin, who was lovingly known to us 
all as ''little Seguin" because of her exquisite dainti- 
ness. She sings to us her favorite song, "Angels Ever 
Bright and Fair." Her notes, clear as the flute, flow 
out like unloosed birds towards the dome. A tremu- 
lous ecstasy is in her voice and her uplifted face is 
beautiful with the rapture of feeling. It always 
seemed as if Mrs. Seguin was conscious of some pres- 
ence, invisible to all but her. Her personality 
was soothing, and as she floated to the footlights, 
rather than walked, a hush fell upon the audience 
and a sigh of satisfaction, audible as a breeze, preceded 
her song. Later years have brought us more preten- 



2o8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

tious artists, of wider fame and demanding more of the 
world, but none of sweeter voice or more winning 
in exquisite personal grace. Loving and lovely soul, 
she poured out the richness of her heart without 
measure. She sang as if music was her life, as if her 
heart might break unless it found its outlet in song. 

All great artists have their favorite song, the one 
to which they turn always, when the passion of their 
soul is stirred. Patti loved "Home, Sweet Home," 
and this little woman loved "Angels Ever Bright and 
Fair." She loved the encore that called for it, and 
her audience, conscious of this love, returned it, and 
seldom was she allowed to leave the stage without 
singing it again and again. It was aspiration and 
consolation, — at once a prayer and a benediction, and 
doubtless many a sore heart found healing of desperate 
wounds as the little woman, fragile and alluring, lifted 
her soul in this prayer. 

Her counterpart in the drama was Bella Pateman, 
long one of the "California" favorites. She was a 
poem wherein was made audible the tenderness of the 
human for the human. There always seemed in her 
attitude and voice a pathos that yearned to find an 
object calling for ministrations and kindliness, where- 
in she could pour out her treasures of sympathy. 
Sacrifice was to her the devout inspiration of worship. 
She was beautiful, but it was her mind equipment and 
her soul that gave her that peculiar quality as an 
actress and in wliich she shone most. This quality 
was akin to the light in a jewel, a radiance that might 
have been invisible, except for the light that flooded it 
from out the sunny spaces of the sky. Like Mrs. 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 20(; 

Seguin, she was of gentle mold, and while her fea- 
tures would not have been in repose perhaps satis- 
factory to an artist, she grew beautiful as her soul 
became aroused, and so upon the stage she was always 
beautiful. She loved her art and her work and was 
devoted to the highest ideals of the stage. It was im- 
possible for her to walk through a performance, be- 
cause for the time the artificial became the real, and 
her associates in the play were living beings, instinct 
with real passion, joy or suffering. She was too in- 
tense for simulation. If she wept, real tears dimmed 
her eyes, and when she laughed, her happy heart sang 
out in its joy. It was this quality which made her, 
even in little characters, magnetic and compelling. 
She pleased and satisfied always. Beyond all her 
charm and excellence otherwise, it was her wonderful 
voice that made her irresistible. In all intense per- 
sonalities, spirituality baffles description, and is be- 
yond analysis. This spirituality was about B'ella Pate- 
man, and no man ever looked upon her and listened 
to her alluring voice, but fell under its charm. The 
sweetest hearts are those whose fibers have been torn 
by some sorrow which ends only in- the grave. This 
is the terrible mystery of life. The soul grows only 
when nourished by tears and ripens in the loneliness 
of unutterable sadness. The poet puts it thus : 

"Some hearts are too happy for greatness; 
Life does them a blissful wrong; 
Love kisses the lips into silence 
That sorrow would have smitten to song." 



2IO LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

In "The Treasures of the Humble" Maeterlink 
speaks of the faces of those who are destined to sud- 
den death, and with the sculptor's skill carves out in 
words the face that appeals to us with a pathos that 
makes the heart ache. We seem unable to speak of 
poor Montague, who died during one of his per- 
formances on the stage of the old '^California," without 
remembering this chapter of Maeterlink. We have 
seen three rare souls like this move through the 
shadow of short years, and while their sun was half 
way between the dawn and noon, go out, leaving to 
those who cherished them, tears and desolation. Is 
it any wonder that when we remember our dead, we 
refuse the consolations of philosophy, and in the radi- 
ance of the Resurrection and the Life, say with 
Tennyson, 

"Stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, 

****** 

And fondly trust the larger hope." 

The first time we saw Montague was in "The Ro- 
mance of a Poor Young Man." He was young, but 
a rare genius. The immortal Ristori was playing at 
the little Bush Street theater wholly inadequate to 
accommodate the crowds that were anxious to see her 
in "Judith." We were one of the disappointed, but 
having made up our mind for the theater that night, 
wended our way to the "California,"' in the next block. 
As usual, we glanced at the announcement, posted at 
the entrance, and read : "The Romance of a Poor 
.Young Man," — H. J. ;Montague in the leading role. 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 211 

\Ve had not then read the book, but there was some- 
thing attractive in the title, for we belonged to that 
class, although we were as yet without our romance. 
Looking down the names, we saw that Bella Pate- 
man had a part, and as we were fond of her, chanced 
our money and went in with the crowd. We had been 
greatly disappointed by our failure to see Ristori, and 
were in no very receptive mood. But if the disap- 
pointments of life were always of so happy an end- 
ing, we would pray for disappointments, for we shall 
never forget the beauty of that performance. Beauty 
of performance, as applied to this play, is no mere 
rhetorical phrase, for it was a rare one and the story 
unfolded by Montague gripped the heart. He flooded 
the waste places of lowly life with fragrance; he set 
roses beside the doorway of poverty and lifted it from 
the lowlands of human experience up to the table- 
lands where mid wholesome airs the ambitions of 
youth built for itself a place of hope. Montague could 
not have been excelled in this play. It seemed as if 
he had some occult relation to it. If we had been a 
believer in reincarnation, we would have more than 
suspected that in the great somewhere, sometime, he 
had lived the life he exposed. From that night we 
felt a personal friendship for Montague. He had 
made a conquest of our minds and hearts, and we 
handed both over to him as willing captives to the 
witchery. 

The demands of the stage have always been for the 
highest types of grace and beauty in actor and actress. 
To this demand the American stage has abundantly 
replied. Montague was a perfect example of this tyi^e. 



212 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

He was a rare individual. To perfect symmetry was 
added a face of such ethereal beauty that one was 
somehow seized with a terrible foreboding that not 
only the good but the beautiful die young, and so it 
proved, and the two others of whom we have spoken 
who died young had this same unearthly mystic beauty 
of face. Was Maeterlink speaking by the oracle when 
he drew his portrait of those who are to be slain by 
sudden death? Montague, shortly after his great per- 
formance in the ''Romance of a Poor Young Man," 
laid down his life on the stage he loved and where he 
was beloved. Few were the years of his brief life, but 
he lived long enough to adorn the profession in which 
scholarship and character were then essential requis- 
ites. 

How like the maze of a Mardi Gras procession do 
the figures come and go as we lie back with shut eyes 
and dream. The familiar stage becomes a place of 
life, the music of the orchestra floats out, and, from 
the wings, forms well remembered walk in the mimic 
world. Barry Sullivan as the tempestuous Richard 
with the strut of ambition, coquettes with fate and 
"wades through slaughter to a throne." The hunch- 
back becomes a real being and we are carried by the 
force of the impersonation to the disjointed times in 
English history when the genius for evil by daring 
treason inverts the order of the throne and by murder 
masters destiny. 

Mrs. Bowers — as the mighty Elizabeth, in whose 
train great spirits seek in jealous rivalry for opportu- 
nity to make her mistress of the ages ; or as the pathetic 
figure of the unhappy Queen of Scots, beautiful in the 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 213 

shadow of desolate hopes — a sweet woman in ruins, 
despair in her eyes and tears in her voice — Mrs. 
Bowers gave to the majesty of either queen great 
attraction and dignity. We could never forget her, 
as she stood upon the parapet of the prison, and look- 
ing towards the hills of Scotland, with her gracious 
head poised in devotion, cried from her soul to the 
mists that floated before her, "Ye fleecy messengers of 
God;" nor forget Marie Antoinette, paying with 
her life for the crimes of her predecessors in a dis- 
solute court. On the American stage, Mrs. Bowers 
was always a heroic figure; she was unrivaled in her 
delineation of great passions connected with tragic 
historic eras. Her capacity was a genius for the 
interpretation of mental and moral moods of women 
who had lived and suffered in great places. She was 
a study. Her work was a marvel of execution, in 
which she seemed for the time to be lost and even 
physically transformed. She lived on the stage. Its 
air was her breath of life, and she seemed always to 
live and expand out of self into the character she por- 
trayed. On the street she was but one of many sedate 
and womanly women. Neither in face nor form would 
one ever suspect that she was the first actress in 
America. In repose she could not be called beautiful, 
but when she played the queen the majesty of empire 
sat upon her brow like a crown, and the robes of state 
were additions to the splendid grace which made her 
fascinating. 

The great Janauscheck, in unmatched excellence as 
an actress, was able to compel the admiration of thou- 
sands, tho she was handicapped by a massive, al- 



2J4 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

most masculine build of body, and hindered in 
speech by the inaccuracy of a foreign accent. As Lady 
Macbeth she was unapproachable in her terrible ex- 
hibition of what a woman can be when ambition eats 
out her heart and dries up the springs from whence 
she should have distilled milk for her babes. There 
was in her action such a deadly unsexing of all 
womanly tenderness, that the very air of the auditori- 
um seemed to chill, and one shivered as if struck by 
an icy blast. It was the triumph of art over human 
feeling, for which it seemed as if the woman must 
have hated herself for the time while she instilled into 
the king's heart the murder of his unsuspecting guest. 
From this heroic arena of ambition and passion 
we turn to the sweetness of homely life and love, and 
spend a delightful evening with John E. Owens, as 
he brightened the poverty of his home with the beauty 
of a love that was divine because it was human. We 
sigh and smile with lovable Jefiferson as he makes us 
love the irresistible vagabond Rip Van Winkle; we 
sufifer with "The Two Orphans" and long to leap upon 
the stage and throttle the villian for his inhumanity. 
John T. Raymond convulses us with his inimitable 
''Colonel Sellers," full of optimistic dreams of wealth 
to be derived from pure "pipe dreams." John Wilson 
furnishes a study of the ordinary modern villain, 
without any redeeming virtues — just the common, 
average bunco-man of the streets. Mestayer. fat and 
funny, part of the time sticks to his text, but most 
of the time indulges in side plays with gags to dis- 
concert his fellows. "Romeo and Juliet" gives Mrs. 
Judah a chance to show us how lovable the old nurs€ 



THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 213^ 

was, and what an exquisitely perfect picture of devo- 
tion in lowly lives was in Shakespeare's mind when 
he cast Juliet into her loving care. 

As I stand before the vacant lot on which the old 
theater stood, now a desolate vacancy, tender recol- 
lections flood the mind, glorious memories sweeten the 
heart full of regret for it all, for somewhere in the 
silence of the Eternal are the great majority of those 
that once constituted the happy lot of artists that, in 
the splendid and beautiful past, gave to their profes- 
sion here the grace, purity and sweetness of their own 
lives. 



Chapter XII 

SOME OLD BANKERS, MERCHANTS AND 
FINANCIERS 

np HE boy who rolh'cks through the streets of a city 
■■■ in his careless way often is the very best critic 
of men and things which appear about him. It has 
been frequently said that the greatest critics of human 
nature are the children. As a boy growing up in San 
Francisco, with the boy's inquisitive nature, we became 
acquainted accurately with the little city, and by daily 
touch with most of its leading men and public char- 
acters. These men went long ago and passed out 
of their relations to the city, and the city itself is now 
gone and nothing is left to suggest the old life. The 
old town, in every department of commerce and busi- 
ness life, had groups of representative men, who by 
rectitude made reputable the transactions of men. 
This was a fine race that possest and managed life as 
manifested in the bank, the store and the exchange. 
They were the choicest specimens of well-groomed, 
largely endowed men, whose energy found fields for 
its activity in the trade of a constantly increasing terri- 
tory. There were many differences in individual 
character and capacity for business, and there was a 
difference also in the means owned and by which re- 
sults were accomplished, but these differences were not 

216 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 217 

deep outlines of division, — they were mere matters of 
equipment and resource, which did not hold men apart 
as they do now. Men knew each other intimately, 
associated together, met in social life without restraint. 
There were strong individualities that flowed out of 
men into their business. This individuality fixt itself 
upon the very places of business and gave the houses 
in which business was transacted a human personality. 
Some poet has finely said that a shattered vase will 
in its severed fragments retain still the perfume of the 
flowers it once held. We might have applied this to 
many an old building we knew as the business places 
of well remembered men, had the earthquake only 
shaken the city, but the devouring fire has left nothing 
but ashes, and ashes contain no suggestions. Out of 
the terrible new we are able to recall but little of the 
old things, and this capacity grows fainter year by 
year. The stranger of to-day, who comes through 
our gates and rests within our walls but a night, knows 
almost as much as we do of the city as he looks upon 
blocks of massive buildings less than four years old. 
We are almost as likely as he to become lost in the maze 
of streets. We seem to know them now only because we 
read their names upon the street-lamps at the corners. 
We shall never again be able to rely upon the law of 
relation to aid us in rebuilding pictures of the city. 
Memory must work alone. She must work out as best 
she can the outlines of places and old houses, and if 
her pictures are sometimes faulty, even dim, it must 
be remembered that time has effacing fingers, or if she 
does not always see clearly, it may be because the eyes 
are clouded with tears. 



2i8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

If we should stand for a moment only, before 1871, 
in the shadow of the old Bank of California, what 
supreme figure would we see coming out of its doors 
into the sunlight of the street, with the wonted smile 
and salutation, to pass down the old familiar side- 
walk? Who but Ralston, whose genius, working 
under mighty pressure more than a hundred other 
men of his day, inspired and molded the industrial 
life of the entire coast. For nearly forty years we 
have felt the lack of his inspiration and work. Nearly 
four decades have gone, and there still lies open the 
gulf between the direction of his mind and the achieve- 
ment of the hand, which he left. It still seems that 
out of the ranks of men who have come after, not 
succeeding him, there is no stalwart able to lift or 
wield the instruments with which he battered into 
shape the resources of the Pacific, from Arizona to 
British Columbia, and from the shores of the sea to 
the Rockies. His life was a marvel to men. With the 
throng that were lured to California across the Darian 
Isthmus, W. C. Ralston, young, ambitious and com- 
petent, was a leading spirit. He was more in touch 
with the spirit of the land itself than any of the multi- 
tudes that came with him. The country filled him 
and he was as large as the country. He was pre- 
eminently a man of genius, without any of its eccen- 
tricities, for he was sound of body and comprehensive 
of mind. On his arrival in San Francisco he wasted 
no time in search for opportunities ; he created them 
by force of will and entered upon serious work. From 
the first he had a comprehensive realization of the re- 
sources of California, backed up by the expanding 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 219 

resources of all the Pacific Coast. He acted with 
great rapidity, but his speed had in it no weakness of 
impulse. He saw clearly the natural advantages of 
San Francisco as a great seaport, and that it would 
be a world city with a great commerce, where, per- 
haps slowly at first because of the newness of things, 
but finally, would be centered beyond rivalry the busy 
life of a great city, with its multitude of people and 
manifold activities. He saw clearly into the future 
and set about in a masterful way to lay the founda- 
tions upon which its wealth and prosperity should be 
built. Like all masters he had a purpose about which, 
with absolute faith, he centered his will. Having 
determined upon a course of conduct he was not 
moved from what to him was the way of life. Ralston 
counseled with himself, drew his inspiration from his 
own spirit, both illuminated by an artistic imagina- 
tion, for the great worker must be necessarily a man 
of imagination, — he must build to dreams altho he 
builds of iron and stone, and if he builds largely, he 
must work into them lofty ideals. 

No citizen of the Pacific Coast, then or since, has 
approached Ralston in the breadth of his conception 
and scope of his accomplishment. The vision of the 
night with him became the work of the day. He, 
doubtless, had as the basis of his marvelous achieve- 
ments the ambition to be the owner of vast wealth, 
but he spurned the mere gold that men did no more to 
obtain than to dig in the earth. While others, many 
of them gifted with rare minds, of brilliant faculties, 
were content to delve in dirt for gold, he measured 
the resources of the wonderland, applied to them their 



220 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

relations to improved conditions, and wrought for his 
own as well as for future generations. He stood al- 
most as the lone builder of an empire that would live 
and flourish in increasing power and beauty when the 
gold-fields would be deserted and the race of mere seek- 
ers for gold would be dead or forgotten. From this work 
no temptations lured him. He pursued the path he had 
laid out with patient faith and worked with marvelous 
energy. To his work he directed the resources of his 
mind, gave to it the affection of his heart, turned mis- 
takes into accomplishment, and failures into victory. 
Though often he faced disaster, he was not cast down. 
His will grappled with situations that would have 
driven an ordinary man into insanity or the grave. 
These were to his indestructible courage only the spur 
to mightier endeavor, a call upon some of his unused 
reserve, — just as a great soldier in the presence of 
defeat turned the tide of battle by ordering a waiting 
regiment to charge. 

In the development of California, in fact of the 
entire coast, it may be truthfully said that Ralston did 
more than all of the other men in the State. There 
was a time in his career, when in the noon of his 
activity, his extended influences were so far-reaching, 
that men were almost frightened by their brilliance. 
From a mere local banker, he became a power in the 
nation, and then in the world, and in no great financial 
center, where California was known, was mention 
made of California without mention being made 
also of Ralston. Men are usually said, as they 
go forward with great schemes, to grow with their 
work. This could not be said of Ralston for he 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 221 

always was, — he did not grow, his achievements grew 
to him. This was always the essential difference be- 
tween him and all other men in the State. We knew 
and admired him, when we were a mere lad, by reason 
of kindly services he rendered to us when a law stu- 
dent. From the first hour we were fascinated, 
and the fascination never left our mind and heart, 
for it was in both. We were always indebted to him 
for a certain elevation in our estimate of human nature. 
To know him as we did was a liberal education 
in the kindliness of the human heart. It was a simple 
incident that brought us together, but it was never 
forgotten. We were a law student, he the manager of 
the Bank of California. That bank was then the con- 
trolling center of the financial power of the coast. We 
had occasion to make some inquiries as to the financial 
standing of a man associated with the bank. The 
inquiry was legitimate, violated no ethics, and while 
we were timid in making it, we felt justified by its 
character. We called at the bank and inquired for 
Mr-. Ralston, and without ceremony or delay were 
ushered into his room. We found him almost buried 
in piles of documents, over which he was peering. As 
we entered he looked up with a genial smile and said, 
"Mr. Woods, I am at your service, what can I do for 
you ?" The smile, the gentle tone of the inquiry, lifted 
us out of all fear, and in as few words as possible we 
stated our inquiry. His reply was that he knew some- 
thing of what we wanted to know, but not all, and 
that if we would call again at the opening of the bank 
on the following day, he would be prepared to answer 
us fully. As we arose to leave the room, he rose from 



222 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

his seat, escorted us to the door as if we were a visit- 
ing' prince, and giving- us his hand wished us "good- 
day." It was a gracious condescension and we never 
forgot it, for we knew how gracious a large man could 
be. We, of course, supposed that he would forget the 
incident and the inquiry as soon as it was over, but 
it was not so, for during that same afternoon as we 
were walking down California Street we met him and 
he bowed and called us by name. This was the only 
time we had ever had a personal interview with him, 
and it was short, but he never afterwards met us on 
the street, and we knew him for many years, without 
the same gracious salutation. It was in this way that 
he won and held all men, for no one could resist the 
beauty of his acts. 

Ralston's actions were a spontaneous expression of 
his generous disposition to aid. This often led him, 
when m.uch engrossed with business affairs, to stay his 
work while some distrest one made request for aid. 
He was impatient with mere pretenders and had but 
little time to waste in listening to stories that should 
have been told to a policeman. To the worthy appeal, 
however, he was a sure refuge. He was hard to de- 
ceive ; he knew human nature as an open book and was 
skilled in reading motives. There was in all of his 
giving a charity which enriched the gift. His charit- 
able nature was widely known and as might be ex- 
pected appeals were numerous. Two examples of this 
generosity we recall easily as they were familiar to 
us at the time. 

One day during banking hours, a pale, poorly clad 
woman sought him out at the bank and with the voice 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 223 

and manner of a gentlewoman used to better things, 
said that she was a widow upon whom two small chil- 
dren depended for support; that if she could get a sew- 
ing machine, she could easily support herself and her 
children. Ralston told her to go home, after taking 
her address, and that he would see what he could do. 
As soon as she was gone, he called his old negro 
servant who was the confidential agent of his benevo- 
lence, and gave him the address and told him to visit 
the neighborhood and inquire among the neighbors as 
to this woman. The inquiry was made and the story 
verified, and on the next day a sewing machine of the 
very best make was installed in the little home. 

One m.orning, just as the bank opened, a quaint un- 
tidy Australian, puffing at an old unsavory pipe, asked 
Mr. Ralston if he could speak to him a moment. 
These requests were never refused and he had his 
audience. He said that he was a litigant in a suit 
pending in one of the District Courts, which was to 
be called that day for hearing, that it was necessary 
for him to tender fifteen hundred dollars to his ad- 
versary, which he knew his adversary would not ac- 
cept, but that unless the tender was made, the 
suit would fail, and he asked if Mr. Ralston would let 
him have the fifteen hundred dollars for the purpose 
of making the tender, promising that as soon as the 
tender was made, he would return the money. Ralston 
gave him a swift look, sized him up accurately, and 
calling a clerk told him to let the gentleman have fif- 
teen hundred dollars in coin, and that he would return 
the money later in the day. With his fifteen hundred 
dollars the litigant made his tender, saved his suit, 



224 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

and within an hour the money was safe in the bank 
again. 

It was only a man of the rarest human quahty and 
wisdom that would do such things as these. These 
are not fairy stories of benevolence, for we knew the 
woman and man referred to, and more than once heard 
the story from each of them. 

As a banker Ralston never forgot that he was a 
man. It was not his maxim that "business is busi- 
ness," or "there is no sentiment in business." His 
brain and heart worked together. He loaned money 
to men, not things. If he was satisfied of the necessity 
of the applicant, that he had commercial wisdom and 
that the venture was fairly promising, the applicant 
got the money without hypothecating every available 
resource he had and thus practically handcuffing him- 
self where he needed his resources in his business. 
Men can not borrow this way now ; money is loaned 
only to things. "No collateral, no money" is written 
over every banking house in the modern city. No one 
more fully than Ralston understood the moral rela- 
tion of the bank to the community, and he lived up to 
this relation. 

Before he branched out fully into the great events 
of his life, he was a member of the firm of Fritz & 
Ralston, engaged in general business, commission and 
brokerage operations. The State grew and its op- 
portunities enlarged, and in 1870 the Bank of Cali- 
fornia opened its doors for business, in a little store- 
room at the corner of Washington and Battery Streets. 
A single room was then sufficient for its business. 
This, however, grew like a gourd, and very soon there 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 225 

radiated from it agencies in other parts of the State 
and in Nevada, where the tremendous gold and silver 
output was astonishing the world. The digging out, 
reducing and caring for the great flow of wealth re- 
quired millions to pay for labor, machinery, fuel and 
transportation. The work was the work of giants, 
and Ralston was the chief spirit of all of this brilliant 
and tremendous industry. He was its first financial 
director. He was inspired by the greatness of the 
field, moved by the immensity of the demands, and 
he was equal to the situation. He built mills, con- 
structed railroads, cut down forests, built canals for 
water, combined, focalized and used all the collateral 
agencies that contributed to the production of gold. 
He was a King of Industry, his power vast, his opera- 
tions masterful. Wealth poured like a great flood 
into the coffers of the bank and its agencies, and when 
the little store was given up for the fine building on 
the corner of Sansome and California Streets, it 
seemed a very Gibraltar of finance. Alas for human 
dreams ! The splendor attracted envy and malice, and 
the great institution and its brilliant master were both 
marked for destruction by mighty, influences, influences 
of which he had been the chief creator. Efforts were 
directed against Ralston and the bank, and they both 
rocked in the throes of a financial earthquake. The 
master fell, while the institution was shaken to its 
foundation. No sadder story than the closing of the 
doors of the Bank of California and the tragic death 
of its founder is written into the history of the State. 
Before this tragic hour, directed by the courage and 
intuition of Ralston, the vast wealth of the bank had 



226 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

been used in the expansion of the city and the State, 
often building for the future to meet inevitable condi- 
tions constantly arising among a new people. All of 
this radiated from the common center in all direc- 
tions. The Pacific Rolling Mills were built; the 
Palace Hotel, years before it was possible for it to be- 
come remunerative, was built as one of the necessities 
of the coast, so that people from all the world might be 
housed in the city in the comfort they were used to 
in the centers of civilization. The wisdom of this 
construction was more than justified in after years, 
when the Palace Hotel gave, as the sole agent of prog- 
ress, San Francisco a repute among the people of 
the world. The "California Theater" was built and 
maintained that our people might have the best that 
could be furnished in art and literature. The story of 
the "California Theater" and of the group of its great 
actors and actresses is one of the things that we turn 
to with pride, when we are discussing the good things 
of the past years. The wisdom of these forethoughts 
was more than justified as the years went along and 
the city became famous. 

Ralston did not stand a supreme figure because he 
towered among pigmies, for he operated in a com- 
munity of daring and resourceful men who, in con- 
temporaneous days, made the mines, the exchanges 
and the various arenas of trade battle-fields upon which 
giants fought strenuous battles by force and strategy. 
Later the ranks of these dissolved, and in Paris, 
New York, Berlin and Chicago, individual members 
found occupation and repute. Forty years have not 
dimmed our recollections of Ralston, as we saw him 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 227 

almost daily upon the streets of the old city. He was 
a perfect model of the business man, medium-framed, 
wholesome, alert and genial. His face was open and 
sunny, and his eyes full of active, benevolent lights. 
He was full of force, mellowed by a grace of manner 
that was attractive. This was the quality that gave to 
his smile a certain sweetness that drew men towards 
him and subdued their wills. It would have been a 
difficult thing to be discourteous to Ralston when he 
turned toward you his beaming face, full of courtesy 
and kindness. 

These pages have not been dealing with biographies, 
narrating events only in men's lives or sketching a part 
of their careers simply, but we write of them as we 
saw them, when a mere lad, going about among them 
in the streets, or seeing them in their places of busi- 
ness. We have sought to give impressions of them as 
they seemed to us. In a large city men never get 
close together except in exclusive social life, do not 
expose to him who meets them upon the street their 
mental and moral make-up. This was possible in San 
Francisco before she had climbed out west be- 
yond Van Ness or south beyond Market. Here, lead- 
ing men in all walks of life, were almost your daily 
companions upon the street, and a boy, even, with an 
average outlook, was enabled to become acquainted 
with the faces of men and familiar with their charac- 
teristics and habits. This was when Montgomery 
Street, from Market to Washington, was the chief 
promenade of the city, and almost every day at some 
time every man of note passed up and down this boule- 
vard. It was here, first, that we saw Michael Reese, 



228 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Peder Sather, John Parrott, Sam Brannan and 

King, known always as ''Money King." 

If he had any other name, it was not known, for he 
always was called "Money King." 

There were many old signs that were familiar too — 
signs that showed the character of representative 
men and old firms that have passed into commercial 
history. Among these could be read any day on the 
principal streets : "W. T. Coleman and Co. ;" "De 
Witt, Kittle and Co.;" "Macondray and Company;" 
"Ross, Dempster and Co. ;" "Faulkner, Bell and Co. ;" 
"Rountree & McMullen." Those were not the days of 
short weights and adulterated foods. Consciences, 
without the aid of Congressional enactments, made 
the brand of any of these old houses upon a box of 
goods a guaranty of quality — a pledge that the box 
contained only good goods. There were some "sky- 
rocket' concerns too, that by their transactions made 
the business sky lurid with the boldness and daring 
of doubtful transactions. The story of the old bank- 
ing firm of Palmer, Cook & Co., was full of doubtful, 
elusive, and disastrous operations. It may be read in 
the decisions of the Supreme Court, and there may be 
many an old Frenchman and Frenchwoman in France 
who could tell, if they could choke back their tears 
long enough, of how they were led by the old French 
firm of Pioche & Bayerque to invest through this firm 
in the "great opportunities" of California. Hundreds 
of thousands of dollars were sent from France for in- 
vestment to these bold speculators, and when the clos- 
ing up of their affairs came, the French investors 
mourned their losses. These were rare and widely 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 229 

separated exceptions, for men gloried in their personal 
honor, carried their conscience into the counting 
houses, traded in the open, and dealt with their fel- 
lows as they would be dealt by. 

There were noted hotel-men in those days, when 
Pearson was "Mine Host" at the old Cosmopolitan, 
situated at Bush and Sansome. This was the home 
hotel of those days, days when hotels were built 
and operated for comfort. In the old Cosmopoli- 
tan were great, spacious rooms, with lofty ceilings, 
full of sunshine; a magnificent dining room, where 
fine meals were served by courteous attendants, pre- 
pared by cooks who knew how to make the fruits of 
the earth wholesome and savory. There were no grills, 
no cafes then. We lived in a homelike way ; the hotel 
was a home, and what we ate and drank were neces- 
saries, not luxuries. With all of the splendor, light 
and glitter of these days, there can not be found in a 
modern hotel the solid comfort and repose that were 
found in the old Cosmopolitan, when Pearson was its 
landlord, and Brush Hardenburgh its chief clerk. 

The old Russ House was then the favorite of the 
miner and farmer, when the elder Hardenburgh and 
Dyer were its joint managers. Here all of the solid 
comforts of a home were obtainable by the farmer and 
the miner who came to the city for a few days of 
sightseeing and recreation. The landlord made it a 
part of his business to become the friend of his guest, 
and to make him feel perfectly at home. At the old 
Occidental could be found the Army and Navy, where 
McShane for years made them welcome, and after 
him Hooper and one of the Leland Brothers, whose 



230 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

family name had become a part of hotel history in the 
United States during the years following the early 
seventies. 

There were to be seen any day on Montgomery 
Street, somewhere between Washington and Market 
Streets, three unique characters, each of its own kind, 
familiar personages, not attractive, but catching to 
the eye, because they were so unlike others, so defined 
in their personality that they were marked and sep- 
arated from the general mass. 

The first of these historic characters was Michael 
Reese, a ponderous Jew, who towered and stretched 
out in the breadth of his enormous avoirdupois, an 
Israelitish Hercules. His name was never shortened 
to "Mike," for that would have suggested the Irish- 
man, and Reese was an ''Israelite" indeed. He was 
not fair to look at, for he slouched and shuffled his 
great mass of bone and flesh along the sidewalk, as if 
his body were too heavy to trust to a hasty step, as if 
he dared not lift his feet for fear of disaster. He had 
a large head, massive cheek, broad mouth, and a col-' 
ossal nose. Untidy, and careless, never persona 
grata personally, but he was away above and be- 
yond contempt, for he was a power in finance, a 
master in business, and wielded a powerful influence 
wherever men in trade, banking, real estate, or mining 
were making money. He was able by reason of his 
intellectual strength and big purse to hold, perhaps 
to a larger degree than any single man in the city who 
operated alone, the balance of power in critical money 
emergencies. He was essentially a free lance of 
finance, and so harbored his resources, that he was 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 231 

always ready to take advantage of situations that got 
beyond the grasp of others. He was like Sage in 
New York, always in funds when everybody else 
seemed to be for the moment "broke." He had great 
daring, and when his judgment had weighed the 
chances, he dealt out his money into ventures with a 
free hand. 

His commercial instincts, the gift of his race, 
he had quickened by many experiences. He was an 
expert in real estate, had a keen and accurate esti- 
mate of present and future market values, was well 
versed in the demand and supply of things that the 
world must have, kept his finger on the hot pulse of 
speculation, and, cool-headed, reaped often where 
others had sown. This he did because he had frequent 
opportunity to do so, — opportunity of which he availed 
himself but which he had no part in bringing about, 
for he had the reputation always of being "indiffer- 
ently honest." He was never charged with scheming 
to bring about disaster, that he might gather up out 
of other men's estates. He knew that men would 
bring about their own disaster, and he was satisfied 
to wait until other hands than his had wrought ruin. 
To profit then was to him legitimate. Often, in 
dangerous days, the strongest men in the city went to 
him for aid, and he was always ready to assist unless 
he saw that aid was futile and meant only loss to the 
borrower and the lender. 

Reese had no family ties, was a lone bachelor, and 
lived more than the simple life. Able to have lived 
in the luxury of a prince in many a block of his own 
buildings, to have maintained a palatial country home, 



232 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

he spent his days in the streets, or in a Httle dingy 
cubby-hole of an office in one of his own buildings, 
possibly because it was too indifferent to be rented to 
any one else. If there were a more shabby den in 
town than Reese's office, we don't know where it 
would have been found. He had no janitor fees to 
pay, no brooms to buy; the old chair was strong 
enough to hold him while he sat down to draw on the 
rickety old table his checks, amounting frequently into 
the hundreds of thousands. 

There are in all human beings hidden deeps, secret 
chambers in the heart, unsuspected until death or some 
accident reveals them. And so it was with Michael 
Reese. He died in his native town in Europe, it was 
said, from a fit of apoplexy brought on by a violent 
quarrel he had with the gatekeeper of the cemetery 
where his parents were buried. The quarrel was over 
the price charged Reese for entrance to the cemetery. 
When his will was probated, those who knew him 
were astonished by its exhibition of real charities. 
The history of San Francisco, in its early days, would 
be incomplete without some sketch of this strong, 
strange, lone Israelite. 

Everybody in San Francisco, even the boys of the 
town knew Sam Brannan. He was tall and graceless, 
and when we knew him he was past fifty and was 
showing his years. He had been a man of dissipa- 
tion, and was, even in those days, a heavy drinker. 
He still had vigor, but before his death, a few years 
after, he had fallen into the feebleness of a worn out 
man. In his first days he was known as a man of 
wealth, and was counted as pne who had the gift 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 233 

of investing his means in productive real estate. He 
was rough and violent at times when vexed or 
crossed in purpose. This disposition cut him off from 
close touch with many who otherwise might have 
joined with him in ventures. He was too uncertain 
personally, and so he was compelled to play a lone 
hand. While he kept a clear brain, he was able to 
stand and go alone ; but as his faculties slowly yielded 
to the steady influence of drink, he became more un- 
certain, unwise in his investments, lost his grasp of 
opportunities, failed to keep step with the procession, 
and dropt back until he ceased to be a factor in the 
city's development. He was a strange being always, 
about whom was an air of mystery. It was a tale of 
the street that he had been before coming to Cali- 
fornia an elder of the Mormon Church, and that he 
was apostate. There were other stories connected 
with the money that he brought to the State with him, 
but it would serve no purpose to repeat these, for what- 
ever may have been the truth, he has accounted to the 
Final Judge, and with his offenses, if any, we are not 
concerned. 

Poor, old, lonely, slouchy "Money King," — we 
never heard him called by any other name, — a miser, 
who sneaked rather than walked along the ways men 
strode upright and cleanly, — homeless, money luna- 
tic, he hugged his dirty bags of gold to his heart, 
and loaned his money out upon certain security, for 
he trusted no one. For this loaning he demanded 
exorbitant interest and got it, for he had his cus- 
tomers among the stock speculators who could afford 
for ready cash to pay almost any rate of interest. 



234 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

He was a waif, buffeted by fate and fortune, out of 
whose mind had perished all but the love of money, 
out of whose character had gone almost all things 
that adorn human nature. For years his greasy figure 
hung about the streets where the mining exchanges 
were, like a hungry hawk waiting for his prey. He 
had the reputation of having large riches. This we 
always doubted, as he gave no evidences of extended 
wealth. There were no records of real estate invest- 
ments of his, and we always regarded him as a small 
dealer with a few ready thousands, to which he slowly 
added. He at last, without notice, dropt from 
sight, and was forgotten. From Ralston to "Money 
King" was a long stretch. 

There are some characters in the old city, in lowly 
places, that deserve mention in these pages, and 
before I close I wish to speak of one James Shea 
who was the owner of the coaches of the Brooklyn 
Hotel, then conducted by the well-known John Kelly. 
Shea for over half a century has held a high place 
in the community because he has been for all of these 
years a man. He is still alive and vigorous and fre- 
quently comes and goes into my office, hale, strong 
and sturdy. His is a fine story of a fine life and his 
career illustrates the value of character. Years ago 
he wanted a new coach. Its price was twenty-two hun- 
dred dollars. All he had was eight hundred dollars 
in money. The company who owned the coach said to 
him that they would take the eight hundred dollars 
and his indorsed note for the remainder. He paid the 
eight hundred dollars and went away to get the note. 
He applied to John Kelley for the indorsement, which 



OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 235 

Kelly agreed readily to give. With the indorsed note 
they went to the Bank of California and saw Mr. 
Ralston, then its manager. Shea applied to Ralston 
for the loan and handed him the note. Ralston looked 
at the note, the indorsement, and at Shea, and smil- 
ingly said to him : "What do you need with Kelly's 
indorsement?" He took his pen, scratched off the in- 
dorsement, handed the note to one of the clerks, and 
handed Shea the money. 

Afterwards Shea was appointed as the executor of 
the will of James Farrell, who was one of the then 
millionaires of the city. Upon the death of Farrell, 
application was made by Shea for his appointment as 
executor. When the matter came up for hearing, it 
was found that the bond required was five hundred 
and sixty thc^usand dollars. The Judge looked over 
at Shea and said, "Do you think you can give this 
bond, Mr. Shea?" Shea scratched his head and said, 
"I will see, your Honor." He went down town and 
came back the next day with his bond signed by 
several chief bankers of the town, and as he handed 
the same to the Judge with a quiet Irish smile, he 
said, "Why, your Honor, they said I could have had 
five millions." And all of this without one cent of 
security, except the character of the man. 



Chapter XIII 

A FEW IMMORTAL NAMES OF A GREAT 
PROFESSION 

A WHOLESOME boy has but little to do with doctors. 
'^*" He grows to look upon them as an uncanny lot; 
but with a boy's desire to know leading men, we came, 
in the old days, to know by sight most of the really 
great men who adorned the medical profession — that 
great profession that has in the last part of the century 
made greater advances in curative science than any 
of the other professions have made in any of their 
particular departments. It has been the favorite 
pastime of the thoughtless to criticize doctors, to 
accuse of commercial interest only even its most noble 
members, who devote splendid minds and sympathetic 
hearts to the alleviation of human suffering, even to de- 
clare that the modern hospital, the great benefaction of 
civilization, has for its sole foundation the greed of its 
founders. Dense ignorance alone is the excuse for 
this shallow and cruel estimate of the great profes' 
sion and the thousands of noble men who strive and 
suffer that they may be sufficient unto the heroic work 
of man's physical salvation. 

In the human tide of 1849 came many devoted and 
brilliant young and middle-aged physicians, and sur- 

236 



A GREAT PROFESSION 237 

geons, to practise their profession wliile their fellows 
dug for gold. They were true to their love, even 
when there were alluring temptations to abandon it 
and cast in their lot with those who were finding 
fortunes in the opportunities of the new country. The 
ranks of pioneer medical men were full of those who, 
in universities of our land and Europe, l;ad become 
skilled in the arts of healing — men whose achieve- 
ments about the operating table astounded the world 
and made brilliant the pages of journals, where were 
kept the records of rare and almost miraculous surgi- 
cal achievements. Their work was too fine to be lost 
on the shores of a far-off sea, and their repute traveled 
into all lands and their wisdom and experience were 
seized upon and made a part of the treasures of the 
literature of the profession in old seats of learning, 
where great things, that men do, are preserved as 
the heritage of the generations that are to come — 
wisdom to guide future scholars, skill to direct hands 
yet unborn, that they may acquire the cunning of rare 
old masters, a cunning that shall be the guide-posts 
set firmly along the ways of life that men may grope 
no longer uncertain, but may in beaten paths, illumi- 
nated by sure lights, see their way clearly, and per- 
form as a well known and common operation that 
which was once only possible at the hands of the most 
gifted men. 

This is why the medical profession has so far out- 
stretched other professions : its miracles have been 
made the ordinary work of its average professor; it 
has conserved, reservoired its great knowledge, illu- 
piined its skill in its text-books. 



238 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

From 1849 to i860 there were, in proportion to its 
population, more great doctors and surgeons in San 
Francisco than in any other city under the sun. They 
constituted a brilhant group of gifted, learned, bold 
men; were worthy to rank in moral and intellectual 
endowment, in the volume and brilliancy of their work, 
and in their touch and relation to the social and politi- 
cal life of the State with the other groups of men we 
have written of in other professions. 

It may not be an inspiring literary page, but we 
will take the chances and give a list of the great 
doctors whose forms and faces were familiar when we 
were mere school-boys, spending the daylight hours, 
when out of school, in strolling about the city, gratify- 
ing a youthful passion, — that of studying noted men. 
Had there, on any day, been a procession of the 
doctors and surgeons of the city, and any of the fol- 
lowing prominent physicians and surgeons been a part 
thereof, we could have pointed them out to a stranger 
and given to him a boy's estimate of their worth and 
repute and of the particular branch of their calling 
they were prominently identified with. This is the 
roll: 

John B. Trask, David Wooster, H. H. Toland, E. 
S. Cooper, Henry Gibbons, Sr., John F. Morse, P. K. 
Nuttall, R. Beverly Cole, Washington Ayre, Levi 
Cooper Lane, Thomas Bennett, Herman Behr, A. B. 
Stout, Isaac Rowell, B. B. Coit, and J. B. Stillman. 

We do not desire to limit the roll to these names, 
for there were others great likewise, whom we are not 
able at this moment out of memory to recall. I chal- 
lenge the modern world to produce so splendid a roll 



A GREAT PROFESSION 239 

of the really great from a single profession, in a city 
whose population was counted by tens of thousands 
only. 

We never go back over the old ways and recall the 
old forms and faces, that we are not, by their supreme 
characters, somehow lured, for comparisons, to the 
shores of the Mediterranean, when Alexandria, Athens 
and Rome were the homes of illustrious men who con- 
tributed to the wisdom of the ages. 

For twenty years following 1856, — the year of its 
moral cleansing and redemption, — San Francisco was 
a brilliant city and it is a sad loss that no man as 
brilliant as the city undertook to make those days 
immortal in books. It would have been a rare con- 
tribution to mankind, — would be in these doubtful, un- 
even days something our people could turn to as a 
model for the city's rebuilding in civic righteousness. 
The story can not be written now, for it could be 
written only by one who had mature personal touch 
with the mental activity and moral beauty of the old 
life, and of its many actors. Biographies are too 
cold in facts, too technical in statement to suggest 
the nobility and splendor of the minds and hearts of 
those whose names are being overgrown now by the 
moss on crumbling tombstones in our cemeteries. 

We happily knew Gibbons, Cole, Lane and Cooper, 
as well as a boy could know men great in their pro- 
fessions and engrossed with its exacting cares and 
duties. We saw them often and became familiar with 
their habits of mind and their moods of action. We 
saw them at times in repose, — times when every man, 
for the moment, relaxes and opens the windows of 



240 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

his mind and heart that his fellows may catch a 
glimpse, be it ever so fleeting, of just the man, just 
the human, when the lights in the eyes mellow a little, 
and the throb of the heart is visible in the wrist of 
the resting arm, and the whole form yields to the 
delicious calm of a moment's rest. 

Toland doubtless was the most commanding, strik- 
ing, and popular personality of all the early noted 
doctors. He was a southerner from South Carolina, 
and had the grace and courtesy of manners which ever 
distinguished and still distinguishes those born and 
raised in the exclusive social atmosphere of the most 
aristocratic of all the States. He was tall, spare, erect. 
There was a courtly stateliness about him whether in 
repose or motion. He moved as one who was con- 
scious of power and rectitude. He was not hand- 
some, but was distinguished-looking. No one seeing 
him — and he was always an object of notice — would 
fail to recognize him as a professional man of excep- 
tional endowment, but whether he was a doctor, 
lawyer or bishop, a stranger might not be able to say, 
because there was much about him in form, feature 
and dress that would easily fit either calling. There 
was a certain severity in his face. It was the mien 
of one to whom life was a tremendous problem. It 
is evident that the pain and tribulation of the world 
in which he moved had sobered him, and that the sad- 
ness of the distrest had somehow found lodgment 
in his own heart. He was gentle with the sick, spoke 
to them in low, even tones, — not in the accent of de- 
pressing suggestion, but as if the low, gentle voice 
carried in it the balm of human sympathy and solace. 



A GREAT PROFESSION 241 

For years he had great repute and popularity both 
in the city and in the country, and his reception 
rooms, long maintained in the building at the corner 
of Montgomery and Merchants Streets, were daily 
thronged with crowds waiting for an interview. To 
his office practise, which kept him at work almost 
like, a slave for long hours during every day, he 
added a visiting list that strung out the hours of each 
day's work. He worked rapidly in his office, and was 
swift in diagnosing. The passage of patients through 
his consulting rooms was almost as steady as a pro- 
cession. It was a rare and difficult case to which he 
gave more than a few moments. It has been stated 
truthfully that the man most able to deal with difficult 
situations is the busiest man, for his faculties are con- 
centrated so that under ordinary pressure he is able 
to work in a certain intuitive capacity. Toland was a 
living verification of this fact. He worked with the 
ease of an oiled machine, and the measure of success 
which attended him for years was an indication of the 
certainty of his skill. 

In one of the articles that appeared in the daily 
press, at the time of his death, this statement was 
made, and it was a true mental photograph, "Few per- 
sons ever so combined in their character the elements 
of success. His industry was untiring, his activity 
almost sleepless." A fine inscription to be written 
upon the tombstone of a mortal. Medical literature 
has but few of his contributions; he was too busy 
to write, his time was taken up with active work. The 
workers can not be the writers; they leave this work 
to be done by others in the seclusion and peace of the 



242 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

study — those who have time for the investigation 
necessary to accurate statement in a profession like 
medicine. 

Another remarkable physician of the day was Dr. 
Cole, an active, stalwart student of his profession, 
brilliant and daring, full of magnetic impulses, too 
strong to be curbed by the limitations of his profes- 
sional life. He was ranked not only as a great doctor, 
but was a prominent, active citizen. He had in the 
highest degree the courage of his convictions, and 
spoke what he thought as through a trumpet. He 
was charged with being cruel in his estimates of 
human character, gathered from his professional ex- 
perience, and during the latter part of his life, lost 
some of his professional popularity by reason of some 
daring statements made in this connection which took 
from him the force of an authority. 

In contrast to Cole was Henry Gibbons, Sr., a sober, 
sedate, granite-fibered man and physician, who poured 
out his life, both professionally and socially, for the 
young Commonwealth which he had chosen as his 
home. He was of the old Puritan stock. From a 
long line of moral forebears, he had drawn his life, and 
he did not know how to express his own life except 
in a lofty way. His presence was a call to the loftiest 
impulses of his patients, and to the sick and dying he 
ever came as a large, fine presence, and the holiest of 
human interest was mixt with the medicine he gave. 
It was his joy to alleviate suffering and to solace the 
distrest. After decades of active work in his pro- 
fession, he longed for the atmosphere of his boy- 
hood home, and having contributed of his very lif^ to 



A GREAT PROFESSION 243 

the young State, in his declining years he returned to 
the quiet of his boyhood, to dream great dreams, to 
enjoy the peace of well earned years, at last to lie 
down to his eternal sleep, satisfied with the fruits of 
a great life. 

If a stranger, on the cars which carry him over 
the Sacramento Street hill, at Webster Street, would 
ask the conductor what was the noble building that 
in solemn dignity crowned the summit of the hill, 
he would be told by the conductor that it is Lane's 
Hospital. To the stranger this would mean nothing 
except that it is the designation of a noble pile of 
brick and stone; but to the one who knows, it stands 
as a splendid monument to the man who was noble 
in mind and heart, who slaved to bring his beloved 
profession to the highest perfection, who, from pure 
love of man that suffered, forgot himself, who lived 
and dreamed in the atmosphere of a divine charity, 
and who, though he suffered weariness and pain, 
braced himself against human ailment, that he might 
be sure that when his frail body should lie in the 
ashes of the tomb, coming generations of the suffer- 
ing would have an asylum. Lofty soul ! He may not 
have been among the ranks of those who, with lip 
service in the cathedral, say they love the Nazarene, 
but his love was a real worship of Him who on Cal- 
vary gave up His life for the stricken of the centuries 
yet to come. 

As we approach the name of Cooper, we stand un- 
covered, for no man is entitled to stand covered when 
this one of the greatest of names is spoken among men. 
This is no mere panegyric, for his record is a glori* 



244 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ons part of the wonderful history of the surgeon's 
knife. The records of medical science show him to 
have been a genius of the highest order; a magician 
whose skill was little less than God-like, for had he 
been a mere stumbling man, wandering in the mazes 
of doubt, he would not have dared to lay his hands 
upon human fibers, where a slip of uncertain fingers 
would have been fatal. It would not be fair to his 
fame if we did not, from his record, give a few of the 
wonderful things he did. He ligated the primitive 
carotid artery in two cases — the external iliac in one, 
the axillary in one ; removed a large fibro-cartilaginous 
tumor from the uterus; made the Csesarean section in 
one ; exsected parts of three ribs and removed a foreign 
body from beneath the heart; exsected the sternal 
extremity of the clavicle and a portion of the summit 
of the sternum; together with the exsection of nearly 
all the joints, in different cases, all successfully. 

There is one more great physician of whom we wish 
to write — Rottanzi, a noble Italian, skilled in his 
profession, but noted for the wide and boundless 
charity he exhibited to the poor, who were often un- 
able to bear the expense of surgical operations or the 
care of the hospital. He was a fountain of generous 
emotions. He gave his life and talents to the ministry 
of the poor. In this respect he was possest in the 
highest degree with the spirit of the Master. No man 
or woman ever came to him without relief. Money 
he seemed unconscious of. He was moved in the 
practise of his profession by his genuine love for his 
fellows. 

It is said that comparisons are odious, but the com- 



A GREAT PROFESSION 245 

parisons between great members of all of the great 
professions in San Francisco could not be odious, for 
each was supremely great in its membership and in 
its individual characters, and each shines most wherein 
its characteristics are measured in the presence of the 
other. All of the professions were made illustrious 
by glorious names that shed upon the whole city a 
fame and strength. 



Chapter XIV 

A HORSEBACK RIDE FROM SAN FRANCISCO 
TO SEATTLE 



I 



N the summer of 1866, at the close of school, I felt 
the need of recreation, and thought it would be a 
good time to make a trip which for several years had 
been my constant desire, and that was to take a horse- 
back ride through Northern California, Oregon, and 
into what was then known as Washington Territory. 

About the middle of August of that year, with a 
student who had just finished his course, we purchased 
horses and outfits in Suisun Valley, and started upon 
a trip which lasted for nearly three months, ending 
at Seattle, then an unimportant though ambitious vil- 
lage on the shores of Puget Sound. We were both 
young and enthusiastic, and looked forward with great 
expectations, which were in most respects satisfied, 
for our way led us along a royal road, which in the 
splendor of its scenic features was truly a "king's 
highway." 

We started from Suisun Valley, and traveled north- 
ward through the counties of Napa, Sonoma, Lake 
and Mendocino, following the chain of beautiful 
valleys and across the high Coast Range in the latitude 
of Red Bluff, and from thence following the Sacra- 

246 



FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 247 

mento Valley northward until we climbed over the 
Siskiyou Mountains into Southern Oregon, and still 
on through the valleys of that State, over the Colum- 
bia, through the deep forests of Washington Territory, 
to Seattle. 

We camped out during the trip, carrying our 
blankets and simple cooking utensils strapped behind 
our saddles. The weather, until the last few days, 
was perfect, and every day and night was full of 
delight and interest. No eight hundred miles on the 
continent, or perhaps in the world, offer as much that 
is grand and beautiful in natural scenery as the eight 
hundred miles we traveled during that summer jaunt. 
Every suggestion of scenery was present, from the 
pastoral beauty of meadow lands to the towering crags 
of lofty mountains. The eye, wearied with one scene, 
rested itself upon another, and so from day to day, 
and from week to week, we rode through this magnifi- 
cent region, realizing every day that in truth : 

"To him who in the love of Nature holds, 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A varied language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And healing sympathy that steals away 
Their sharpness 'ere he is aware." 

The memory of that trip has been to us as an illu- 
minated volume in a library of precious books. This 
ride was an experience, for the things seen and lessons 



248 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

learned, during that summer, created and expanded 
many of the serious questions of our lives. The world 
grew larger, and the relation of the great West to 
American hope and thought was made manifest by 
suggestions of vast and brilliant possibilities. The 
variety of scenery, of product and climate was marvel- 
ous. It was one of the marvels of Nature that in the 
same latitude and longitude should exist countries pro- 
ducing products as distinct and separate as if they 
were parted by the breadth of the seas. The relation 
of material to human things; the educational effect of 
physical environment upon man's thought, were among 
the lessons of the trip. It would be difficult to 
find a more separate thought, hope and feeling than 
that which existed between the Californian, the 
Oregonian and the Washingtonian, for their home 
life, educational processes, and forms even of worship, 
were as distinct as though they were dictated by differ- 
ing racial instincts. 

Out of Suisun Valley we climbed a line of wooded 
hills lying between this valley and the wonderfully 
beautiful Napa Valley, which has no rival on the 
Coast in its pictures of pastoral beauty. It lies in an 
environment of hills, beautified by variegated woods 
which make the slopes of the Coast Range so attrac- 
tive by their variety of coloring. Its fruitful acres 
had been held since the earliest occupation of the Coast 
by civilized men, who had here established homes 
and were content to remain therein, even in the pres- 
ence of the excited commercial periods of early Cali- 
fornia history. 

This valley constituted one of the earliest settled and 



FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 249 

best improved portions of the State, with more quiet 
scenes of country life than any similar tract of country 
on the Coast. Here, in 1846, a group of American 
families had founded their homes; had permanently 
settled, content to engage in the cultivation of their 
fields, though they heard the voices of those who were 
finding in California gold without measure. 
• At the head of the valley stands St. Helena, a moun- 
tain peak flanked with castellated hills and overlooking 
a grand sweep of meadow land. At its foot lies one 
of the most beautiful pieces of pastoral scenery in the 
world, for nothing could exceed the beauty of these 
hill slopes, overshadowed by St. Helena, with the 
valley spreading out in the distance into the inviting 
levels of green meadows. 

From thence we rode into the region fertilized by 
the Russian River, which heads among the mountain 
places of the north, tracing its way southward and 
then westward through rich and fertile land, to empty 
at last into the Pacific Ocean. Russian River Valley 
is more diversified than any other in California. At 
times it is hard to recognize it as a valley, for here 
the road leads through groups of gently undulating 
hills, thence to emerge into corn lands, and thence to 
climb into uplands, where fragrant orchards glorify 
the landscape. From the mouth of the Russian River 
to its head, the valley is a peculiar region, unlike any 
other in the State. From its head, in the present 
neighborhood of Cloverdale, northward the Coast 
Range spreads out to embrace a number of sequestered 
vales, rather than valleys, in which are situated 
Hopland, Ukiah, Potter, Calpella, Sherwood, Little 



250 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Lake, Lake Long and Round Valley, all strung like 
pearls upon a golden string. The blue of cloudless 
skies, the long reach of level lands, and contour of 
wooded hills, make this a wonderland to him who is 
in touch with the delicate and beautiful things of the 
material world. 

The people, who at this time occupied these valleys, 
were of the pioneer stock; they loved the farm, an'd 
the hills, and the license of the woods; the scream 
of the locomotive to them was a voice which com- 
manded them to move forward into the solitude of 
remoter regions. We found great hospitality every- 
where, originality of character, freedom of life, gov- 
erned by a few simple rules, and as we became 
in touch with the simplicity and dignity of their home 
life, we learned much which makes possible the de- 
velopment of the human spirit along some of its best 
lines. Honor was a household word, and deviation 
from simple rules of moral conduct was a badge of 
dishonor. The demands for education were few, and 
they found a solace in the simple pursuits of their 
homely condition, and the enjoyment of their kindly 
social life. We remember the tender beauty of the 
intercourse which existed between parents and chil- 
dren in these far-away places. Tastes were simple, 
ambitions few, and hopes within the range of daily 
life. 

Round Valley at this time was occupied by the 
Government as the "Nomo Lackee Reservation," at 
which had been gathered about five thousand Indians 
from the northern tribes, in an attempt to educate them 
into some appreciation at least of a semi-civilized life, 



FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 251 

and to withdraw them so far as possible from a wide 
territory being rapidly taken up and occupied by white 
families. The Reservation was situated in the heart 
of the valley, which is almost perfectly circular in 
shape and lies like a gem in the lap of a noble range 
of mountains. It was an ideal spot for any purpose, 
and seemed especially adapted by Providence for the 
purpose to which the Government was trying to put 
it. At this time, about five thousand of the twenty- 
five thousand acres, which constituted the area of the 
valley, were being cultivated by Government em- 
ployees, and such of the Indians as could be induced 
to work. The California Indian is and always has 
been the natural enemy of labor, and will not work un- 
less he is compelled to by the leash of hunger. The 
Government succeeded only partially in cultivating 
these lands by Indian labor, and much trouble was 
constantly had in the endeavor to make the Indian a 
semi-civilized man. The experiment at the time of 
which I write had not succeeded, and the Government 
was constantly troubled in its endeavor to keep the 
Indians within the Reservation, and much time was 
spent by the management thereof in searching out and 
bringing back from the surrounding mountains the 
bands which, from time to time, escaped to their own 
hunting grounds. This valley and its surroundings 
have been, during the last few years, "dark and 
bloody ground." Frequent deeds of violence have 
made it a desperate territory. The cupidity of rival 
cattlemen has been at the bottom of many of the 
desperate deeds, which have made the name of this 
fair portion of the State almost a synonym for crime. 



252 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Northward from this valley, reaching to the Oregon 
line, stands a mass of tangled mountains, a wilder- 
ness which will ever remain unoccupied, except here 
and there by the camp of the hunter. A wilder region 
can not well be imagined. It is and has been the home 
of the bear and the deer. The number of these last 
named animals is countless, for a hunter whom we met 
here stated that during a year he and his partner had 
killed seven hundred, for the purpose only of securing 
their hides for tanning. This wholesale slaughter was 
against the law, but into this inaccessible region no 
officer of the law ever enters, and so the slaughter goes 
on unmolested. 

We frequently had beautiful surprises along our 
trail, and we met one just on the borders of this wild 
region. One afternoon, weary from the mountain 
climbing and desiring rest, we espied a cabin, half- 
hidden in a dell beside a roaring stream. It was an 
inviting spot, and the only evidence of human habita- 
tion that we had seen during a tiresome day. We rode 
up to it, expecting of course to find the cabin of some 
rude hunter or cattleman, who had established him- 
self there for whatever of profit might come to him 
from the ranging of cattle, or from the product of his 
gun. As we neared the cabin, we found it to be under 
the protection of a huge, black bear, so chained that 
his range encircled the cabin. This careful tethering 
of the monster had reason in it, for, as we subsequently 
discovered, he was the guardian of as dainty a piece 
of humanity as ever carried her love from the centers 
of civilisation into a mountain solitude. This was the 
home of a gentle woman, just from the wealth and 



FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 253 

refinement of Boston. Unable to reach the cabin on 
account of the protecting care of the bear, we sat upon 
our horses and shouted "Hello." The door opened 
and we sat for a moment speechless. Realizing, how- 
ever, the necessity of appearing to reasonable advan- 
tage in the presence of a lady, we apologized for our 
shout and stated that we had hardly expected to meet 
in such a place a lady such as we could fairly expect 
only to find in the drawing-room of a cultivated home. 
She was young, dainty, appareled in pure white, a 
perfect picture of a sweet young woman. Our faces 
exprest our astonishment, and as she saw how per- 
plexed we were, she broke into a rippling laugh, and 
stated that if we would express our wishes perhaps 
she could give us the information we desired. We 
suggested that we did not know where we were and as 
the day was nearly gone, that we would be glad to have 
consent to camp upon the stream nearby. She said that 
her husband was away but that he would shortly re- 
turn, and that until he did, we could make ourselves at 
home. With this consent, we unsaddled our horses, 
and awaited the arrival of the lord of the manor, and 
toward sunset he came, as stalwart and magnificent a 
specimen of manhood as the little woman was of 
dainty womanhood. He confirmed the consent of his 
wife, and we camped for the night. In our conversa- 
tion with him we learned that he was from Boston, a 
college graduate, driven by the fear of the White 
Plague to seek a healing climate, and had drifted into 
this far-off region, and established himself here, find- 
ing strength and health and profit in the hunting of 
game. He was a cultivated gentleman, full of kindly 



254 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

feeling, and qualified in every respect to make happy 
the little woman, whose love had induced her gladly 
to give up the things of civilization to live with him 
in this secluded wilderness. He told us the story of 
himself and wife, and it was beautiful enough to have 
been the subject of book or song. When we called 
his attention to the bear, he smiled, and said it was 
his hunting dog; that in the morning he would give us 
an exhibition of his capacity, and shouldering his rifle 
in the morning, and telling us that if we felt at all 
nervous, we had better mount our horses, he un- 
loosened the collar of the bear, and whistling to him, 
together they went off into the woods. The beer had 
been found while a cub and raised by hand ; taught all 
the arts of the hunting dog, he had become an unfail- 
ing stalker for deer. He was as gentle as a dog and 
full of kindly affection. 

In the early morning we got away from this cabin, 
which was made beautiful by its ideal life. We were 
constrained to leave with it our blessing, feeling better 
for our touch with such human love. Rude as the 
cabin was, it was a home, for as has been written by 
the poet, "Home is where the heart is." 

Before another sunset we had climbed to the summit 
of the Coast Range, and looking off to the east, the 
north and the south saw, bathed in the beauty of the 
declining day, stretching before us, the Sacramento 
Valley, lying like the bosom of a great sea, between 
the Coast Range on the west and the Sierra Nevadas 
on the east. Through its center, winding like a band 
of gold, the Sacramento River lazily sought its home 
in the sea. Down the eastern slope, through the cool 



FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 255 

forests, by the banks of roaming streams, we descended 
into the valley, reaching just at the fall of night a 
farmhouse at which we requested accommodation. A 
slight hesitation on the part of the proprietor made 
us fearful lest we should be denied. At last, however, 
we were granted permission to stay, and the reason 
for his hesitation became apparent when we en- 
tered the house for we found ourselves in the presence 
of an Indian wife and a flock of half-breed children. 
We found this to be the home of a man of education 
and culture, who had turned his back upon the morals 
of his race and the customs of his kind and cast his 
life into the lap of an Indian woman, sinking himself 
to her social status, satisfied to be the father of half- 
breeds. We found more than one of these during this 
trip, and they constituted a type which, for the good 
of the world, we hope soon to see eliminated. 

From the levels of the Sacramento Valley, two 
hundred miles away, one burning summer afternoon, 
we saw the shining summit of Shasta. Cool and re- 
freshing to us in the summer land was the vision of 
snows, whitening almost in the presence of the sun. 
For four days more we rode towards this vision before 
we stood in its immediate presence and beheld, in all 
of its splendor, the mountain shape which glorifies by 
its face of power and beauty one-third of the entire 
State. No mountain in the world excels in situation 
Shasta; fifteen thousand feet in height, it looms into 
the northern skies a pyramid of rock and snow, sub- 
lime, awful, beautiful. 

At the northern base nestles the Valley of Shasta, 
green throughout the year, its meadow lands nourished 



256 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

from the snows of Shasta, while touching the very 
edge of the great slopes are cultivated farms. The 
lower flanks of the mountain are girdled by luxuriant 
forests, which climb upward to the snow line, from 
which the higher crags rise abruptly with an awesome 
face toward the very stars. Standing in the glory of 
the dawn, the flush of noon, the splendor of sunset, 
or in the solemn solitude of the night, it is a figure 
always of splendor, proclaiming by its majesty that 
the "Hand that made it is divine." No man, unless he 
has been to the funeral of his soul, can look upon it 
unmoved, for it touches the finer senses with a power 
unspeakable, and by its glory uplifts the spirits into the 
region of the "larger hope." Its snow fields, never 
melting, nourish the springs which constitute the 
supply of the Sacramento River. This mountain was 
once a volcano and belched forth its inner fires. These 
have cooled, and for ages it has stood, as it stands 
now, a serene figure of rest after conflict. To our 
spiritual senses such a creation is an inspiration, and 
is as much a call to worship as a Psalm of David. 

Shasta is the southernmost of the great summits 
which culminate in the icy regions of Alaska, where 
St. Elias, Fairweather and McKinley lift their icy 
forms in the silence of northern latitudes. The Three 
Sisters, Hood, St. Helen's, Adams, Rainier and 
Baker form a mighty procession of towering shafts 
which divide the lands lying along the shores of the 
Pacific. They stand like sentinels, saluting each other 
across the spaces of the sky. There is no rivalry 
among these summits, for each is a distinct creation 
commanding attention by an individuality of its own. 



FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 257 

After a week's ride from Shasta, through a 
region burned in the past by volcanoes, past the 
tablelands of Southern Oregon, we reached the 
head of the Willamette Valley, constituting the 
wealth of Central Oregon. On the east lie the Cas- 
cades; on the west between the valley and the 
sea stands the continued Coast Range of Cal- 
ifornia. This valley was the seat of the first 
American occupation of the western slope of the 
continent, and is a region full of history and tragedy. 
Here heroism found its highest inspiration, and devo- 
tion to principle its noblest exhibition. It was baptized 
by sacrifice and made sacred by the blood of martyrs. 

Along the northwest rim of this valley, between its 
fields and forests and guarded by the splendid sum- 
mits of Hood, St. Helen's and Adams, rushing on its 
way through the gorge of the Cascades, flows in 
majesty the Columbia. There is no nobler stream 
beneath the stars, and as the majesty of the river 
floods our memory, we reverently suggest that if God 
ever dreamed and worked his dream into physical 
form, he dreamed of the Columbia before he created 
it. Its waters are blue as the sky, into which are 
reflected the shadow of endless forests and the face 
of matchless mountains. It is the creation of half 
a hemisphere. Its floods are gathered together from 
the vast area of snow lands that contribute in the 
distant heart of the continent to its life. 

Mount St. Helen arises, a pure shaft of white, 
from the bosom of a forest on its northern shore, and 
is the most graceful mountain in all the world, — 



258 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

beautiful without mar, full of grace, so that it moved 
those who first saw it to name it after a woman. 

For a week more we rode through the endless forests 
of Washington Territory, until we reached the shores 
of Puget Sound, whose seventeen hundred and fifty 
miles of shore-line, with shelving beach, precipitous 
cliffs and dense forests, make the most beautiful 
inland sea water-view in America. Mountain sum- 
mits on the west and east are duplicated by reflection 
in its clear waters. Land- and sky and water make a 
vision whose beauty no man can make understood by 
words. 

Thus, for these three months, with its tangle of 
dawns and sunsets, with its songs of birds and bees, 
with da3^s mingled with the bloom of flowers and 
glory of skies, with its mornings and noons, with the 
solitude of night and the glory of midday, are mixed 
together a memory and a delight. 

Among the human element we found generosity and 
meanness. Yet, after all the moral additions and sub- 
tractions are made, our memory more readily recalls 
the kindliness of human nature, as it was exprest 
to us during the trip. We have for years held as a 
treasure of memory the wondrous kindness of an 
old farmer who had lived for years in the valley of 
Rogue River. His loving kindness to us added a con- 
tinuous dignity to our appreciation of human nature 
under every condition and relation, and we could not 
now believe in the entire depravity of a race which 
could produce as kindly a soul as his. 

Riding up to his farmhouse one afternoon and 
soliciting an opportunity to rest for a while, we were 



FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 259 

met by a manner courteous and sweet. We were 
worn and weary, and this kindness touched us as 
sleep does one worn out with pain. For two weeks 
we were his honored giiests. becoming at last his 
beloved friends, and when we were compelled by the 
approach of winter to leave him, he mourned for us 
almost as David did for Absalom, and we shall never 
forget the picture of his almost hopeless despair when, 
riding- away, we looked back for the last time, before 
distance came between him and us forever, and saw 
him clinging to the post of his gateway with bowed 
head, sobbing as if his heart would break. Death 
long ago claimed this royal soul, but we have often 
wondered if, in the Great Beyond, he remembers the 
peace and satisfaction in these two weeks' intercourse, 
when he ministered unto us, strangers in a strange 
land, and we are grateful for renewed establishment 
of our faith in the divinity of our common human 
nature through such kindliness as his. 

No narrative would be complete of this trip, without 
some mention of the old gray horse that carried us 
safely over these eight hundred miles, and for whom 
we formed a great attachment. Day by day, he 
patiently bore us over hills and through valleys, often 
weary and worn, yet willing to perform the duties im- 
posed upon him. He had a rare intelligence and most 
kind disposition, and when we pitched our camp at 
night, we turned him loose to wander at will, and 
every morning we found him ready for his work. 
Oftentimes in the early morning, we found him stand- 
ing at our bedside, watching us with a kindly interest 
as if to guard us from possibilities of harm. We re- 



26o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

member yet the kind expression of his eyes, gazing on 
us in these early hours. We were compelled to leave 
him in the far-off region of Puget Sound. While 
we remained there, we watched over his comfort, and 
parted with him only upon an express contract with 
his purchaser that he should be kindly treated during 
the remaining years of his life. If there is an animals' 
paradise, long years ago he was translated there, for 
he had earned an immortality in the horses' heaven. 



Chapter XV 

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 

X T is exceedingly refreshing reading in these days to 
-*■ go over the records of Congress and review the 
exhaustive debates in that great forum on the 
questions which were involved in the acquisition of the 
territory lying west of the Rocky Mountains. Our 
wisest statesman and most enlightened patriots of 
those days were wholly at sea when they came to dis- 
cuss the resources and political and commercial value 
of the vast domain constituting half of the con- 
tinent, extending from the Rocky Mountains to 
the shores of the Pacific. Altho. there were giants 
in those days, they were not as large as the coun- 
try they represented, for their education had been 
among the limited things of the Eastern States, and 
they had no adequate conception of the breadth and 
grandeur of the great West. 

The splendid story of Whitman, riding alone over 
mountains, across trackless deserts, braving unparal- 
leled perils that he might on his bended knees beg those 
who held in hand the destinies of the Republic, to hold 
the great Northwest for us and our religion and civili- 
zation — such a story moves one to believe in the divine 
direction of men in great measures and on occasions 
fraught with mighty issues. What but the voice of 

261 



262 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

God could have spoken to the heart of this little mis- 
sionary in his lonely station amid the solitudes of the 
Columbia, dreaming of the future until he became a 
seer and his soul burned with the flame of inspiration. 
The vision of a mighty people crowding silent places, 
building great cities, making permanent American 
domain, extending the jurisdiction of beneficent laws, 
and planting the cross as the symbol of moral power, 
was before him always — "a pillar of cloud by day and 
a pillar of fire by night." The underlying quality of a 
great soul is the inspiration of the ages, and history 
nowhere, since the work of man has become a matter 
of record, exhibits a more heroic soul than in this little 
minister of the Northwest, whose faith and heroism 
held for our race and flag these priceless domains of 
the West. 

We sometimes grow faint in our reliance upon 
Providence when we see lives like his going out in 
massacre, but as our heart warms with the items of 
his marvelous story, we know that the fault is with 
our horizon and not with Providence. If it be true 
that from the Hereafter "spirits of just men made 
perfect" recognize the fruits of their faithful labor in 
a great cause. Whitman must be glad even in heaven 
as the empire he wrought for and prayed for spreads 
out under the Western sky by the Western seas, the 
theater of a vast commerce, the seat of controlling 
political action, the home of multitudes of industrious, 
moral people. 

Webster, Benton and other great 'senators saw as 
men see, "through a glass darkly." Whitman saw as 
a prophet sees, from the heights from which enlight- 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 263 

ened souls look off towards God. When we remem- 
ber the desperate fate of himself and family by mas- 
sacre, we are constrained by the terror of it to cry out 
with reverent lips, "Martyr!" Rather let us lift up 
the voice of praise for the heroic soul that without 
weariness and witli an unquenchable faith in God and 
his race made sure the Empire of the Pacific. If 
justice had been done to him. Oregon to-day would be 
known to the world as "\\niitman," and the matchless 
story of his work would have placed him among the 
immortals. Justice is a rare quality, and is found 
often to favor the rubbish of the world. 

Berkeley, in his vision, saw the trend of empire, and 
while he dreamed that "Westward the star of empire 
takes its way." Whitman wrought and died in 
actual service. Whitman's work and sacrifice made 
Berkeley's dream sure. The wise student of man's 
development, who has noted the trend of em- 
pire. — the highways along which nations have moved 
forward in the occupation of continents, — often 
wonders what would now be the history of these 
United States, if the firs't occupation had been 
on the shores of the sunny Pacific. Would we 
have moved en masse to the inhospitable shores 
of the Atlantic, and left behind the abundance 
and beauty, the heritage of California, Oregon and 
Washington, or would we and our children have 
yielded to the romance and the dream and left the 
other shore of the continent to the occupation and 
development of alien races? We feel that the history 
of the world to-day would be different and many a 
brilliant chapter unwritten, had we occupied first these 



264 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Western lands. As we contemplate the power of the 
United States as world-controlling, where the Anglo- 
Saxon passion for justice and freedom radiates from 
political, social and religious life, our horizons lift, 
and we in the wider scope of human endeavor dis- 
cern the Providence we often distrust. 

The story of our possession of these Western lands 
is a romance more fascinating than fiction, more com- 
prehensive than philosophy, and sweeter than song. 
In this almost measureless domain of resource and 
beauty our people have builded their cities, swiftly 
springing into centers of commerce, beautified by 
public edifices and private homes, adorned with the 
finest taste of the nineteenth century. Portland in 
Oregon, and Seattle in Washington, for situation and 
beauty rival the famed cities of all lands. Their citi- 
zens are proud of these capitals of the West. 

During our ride from San Francisco to Seattle in 
1866, we did not more than pass through Portland. 
At Seattle we abode for six months, — d. mere village 
on the shores of the matchless Puget Sound ; guarded 
by noble mountain summits and embraced by virgin 
forests. 

Oregon was proud of Portland, and we recall now 
the vibrant challenge of an ancient dame, at whose 
house we were guests for a night. She had come to 
Oregon from some sparsely settled Western State, 
with the first settlers of 1846, and with her husband 
had settled within a few miles of the site of Portland, 
then but an Indian camping ground in the forest that 
shaded the hanks of the Willamette. She had seen the 
Indian village displaced by the new town, and watched 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 265 

its growth until at the time of which we write it had 
become a Httle city into whose lap poured the trade 
of the North. We undertook as best we could to 
give the old lady some idea of San Francisco, of its 
size and features, claiming it to be the chief city of 
the Coast. We did not succeed very well, for after 
many words and much inflection she turned to us with 
a look and gesture of disgust and shouted rather than 
spoke, "Oh, you wait until you see Portland." It 
was the "seat of the soul" to her, and he would have 
been a magician with words who could have made 
her believe that in any land there was or could be a 
greater or more beautiful city than Portland. Truly 
even then it was great and beautiful enough to satisfy 
the simple mind of one who from the wild regions of 
the Western States first saw in Portland the promise 
of a city. 

Its situation on the Willamette, a highway for 
deep-sea vessels, had in it the promise of commercial 
expansion and wealth, its environment suggested 
future stateliness and beauty. This promise has been 
fulfilled, and Portland is rich, fair and gracious, full 
of dignity, the delight of her citizens and the praise 
of him who for trade or pleasure enters her gates. 

In the latter part of December, 1866. at the end 
of the long ride from San Francisco, we became a 
temporary guest of the uncle of Honorable C. H. Han- 
ford, the present Judge of the District Court of the 
United States, at Seattle. We use the term "we" 
because on that ride, there were two of us, my com- 
panion being Thaddeus Han ford, a brother of the 
present Judge, then a young student fresh from 



266 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

studies preparatory to his entrance upon a regular 
course in an Eastern college. He was a quiet, scholar- 
ly lad, with a wide and accurate knowledge of the 
country through which we had ridden. He after- 
wards took his college course and returning to Seattle, 
became the editor and one of the principal owners of 
the Post-Intelligcnccr, a leading newspaper of the 
Northwest, published at Seattle. He met in later years 
a tragic death, mourned by all who knew him per- 
sonally, and by those to whom he had become familiar 
by his wonderful genius as a newspaper man. His love 
for the Northwest, more particularly what was then 
Washington Territory, was a passion, and by voice 
and pen he was constantly proclaiming it as a land 
wherein the best of all things would be found, things 
that man should ultimately need to accomplish high 
resolves, to think great thoughts, a place in which to 
hope and perform. His outlook was deemed in those 
days but the fancy of a boy whose love for the wild 
places of the North made him a dreamer, whose im- 
agination peopled the wildernesses and laid the corner 
stones of cities that should add luster to the material 
beauties that had lured the sons and daughters of 
wealth and culture in these later days to abandon the 
life of Boston, New York and other centers of our 
civilization, to cast in here their lot and possessions. 
Hanford lived to see his loftiest dreams realized, to 
stand in the streets of a great city, and to wander 
satisfied among the marts, fed from and feeding the 
world, and lift his eyes to stately edifices where 
Grecian column and modern art met in chasteness of 
a perfect architecture. 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 267 

The enthusiasm of youth alone could have kept 
us to the long stretch of eight hundred miles, weary 
with the daily fatigue of horseback riding, and 
accompanied with a homesickness which made us 
long for the places which we had left, and we 
realized for the first time, as the traveler always 
realizes when away from his ^native land for any 
continued length of time, a renewed love and an 
intense longing for the old places where affec- 
tions had grown about the places made familiar 
by daily association. As we traveled along the 
highways and byways of California and Oregon, 
and looked into the homes of the settlers, we wondered 
if we ever again would know the pleasures, the com- 
forts and the peace of such a home. 

Our last day between the present site of Tacoma 
and White River, which flows from the Cascades, 
down through the forest to Seattle, was a day of 
strenuous traveling. An old dim Indian trail was the 
only highway through the wilderness of forest, and 
this in many places was piled with the trunks of trees 
that had been by winter storms hurled from their 
places, and the intermingling undergrowth which 
grows so rank in these forests made traveling serious 
work. 

The forest through which this trail ran was com- 
posed of trees hundreds of feet in height, standing 
close-ranked like soldiers on parade. Through their 
network of shade there fell but few rays of sunlight. 
The way was close, cold, damp and uninspiring, and 
made the last stretch of the ride wearisome and tax- 
ing. At times, if there had been a way of retreat, we 



268 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

would have withdrawn from what seemed a hope- 
less endeavor to make advance. At last, however, 
just as the December sun sank behind the glorious 
peaks of the Olympics, we stood on the banks of White 
River, across which we could see the homes of men, 
while on our side everywhere extended the gloom of 
endless forests. No evidences of man's occupation 
enlivened the scene. The waters of the river, icy and 
swift, rushed by, its currents in the rays of the setting 
sun casting to us defiance. No bridge, no boat, was 
present to aid us to escape from the darkening 
shadows, and we were driven to sudden determination 
and action before the night should find us in its thrall. 
Youth has always courage and expediency, and we 
soon were breasting the cold waters, with our clothing 
and effects tied high on the saddles, while we. hanging 
to the tails of our horses, safely crossed our Jordan 
and were in the promised land. 

Never before or since has the home of men, though 
rude and simple, seemed so perfect a picture of safety, 
peace and rest. One hour more and we were beside 
the cheering fire of a country pioneer, at rest and in 
comfort, where we close the record of that notable 
ride. 

There are providences in our lives, which we recog- 
nize, unless we are spiritually blind, and one of these 
was attendant upon us, for the next morning, under a 
protecting roof, and in the warmth of a cozy bed, 
we awoke to find the sky full of lowering clouds from 
which a drenching rain was pouring, and the land 
in the clutch of a storm that raged without ceasing for 
more than a week. What would have been our condi- 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 269 

tion if we had still been in the gloom of the forest, 
throug-h which we had threaded our tiresome way for 
the preceding week ? Words are inadequate to express 
how sweet we found the hospitality of the kindly souls 
who ministered to our necessities, cheering us with that 
fine courtesy which illuminates the homeliest dwelling, 
and makes the hearts of men tender and loving toward 
their fellows everywhere. 

Money for living had become short during the 
months of travel, and we were compelled in the midst 
of the winter to look about for something to do. We 
had, before we started, arranged for compensation 
with a newspaper in San Francisco, then celebrated, 
if not popular, and known as The American Flag, 
edited by D. O. McCarthy, who had made a reputa- 
tion as a man of courage and daring, and who 
was thought necessary by reason of these qualities to 
be at the head of this aggressive war newspaper. 
Its financial backing was not strong, and the an- 
tagonism it engendered was so bitter that in the 
conflict which followed, the American Flag was 
hauled down, and its traveling correspondent, like 
a barn-stormer, was left penniless on the shores 
of Puget Sound. Work must be obtained, but what 
work could be secured in a region where indus- 
tries were limited, and the demand for labor almost 
nil. Teach school we would not. for we had no heart 
for the irksome confinement of a rude schoolhouse, 
with its daily association with minds without knowl- 
edge, limited in faculties, and inspired by no desire to 
know anything. 

The glory of mountains, the sheen of rivers rush- 



270 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ing to the sea, the lights and shadows of Northern 
skies, and the reaches of endless woods, had quickened 
our minds, so that a new sense of beauty and freedom 
had gotten into our blood. Work we courted as a 
lover woos a maid, but it was work in the open, where 
we could have companionship with the natural features 
of the land, wild and primitive, but with voices allur- 
ing and seductive. We found a habitation on a settler's 
clearing at the confluence of the White and Black 
Rivers, and, comfortably housed, made a contract with 
Judge Hanford's father by which, for an agreed 
price per thousand, we were to cut and deliver 
hoop poles from which barrel hoops were made. The 
forests about were full of trees, and an industrious 
man, even in the short days, could make fair com- 
pensation. We worked faithfully for several months, 
and with money in pocket were ready to move in to 
Seattle, whose repute has now traveled to all lands. 
Here for six months we existed, rested lazily, drifted, 
waiting for the summer days that we might have ac- 
curate knowledge of this wonder land in all of its 
seasons. 

In our tramps through the woods we had covered 
a wide range and had become familiar with the 
country that lies to the eastward of Seattle and west- 
ward of the Cascade Range of Mountains. The 
White and Indian population we found peculiar. The 
white man, ordinarily from the Eastern States, had 
brought with him the customs, culture and faith of 
New England homes, and sought to maintain in this 
Northwestern corner of the Republic the traditions 
and refinements of Harvard and Yale and other centers 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 271 

of learning. Often by their firesides we discust with 
them the spirittiah'ty of Theodore Parker, the charm 
of Ralph Waldo Emerson's dreams, and the splendid 
work in the world of science and letters, of savants 
and scholars. 

These men were displacing- the forest and carving 
out homes. The unrivaled fertility of the soil, when 
cleared from the forest, made profitable even in those 
early days the tillage of the rich but necessarily limited 
fields. The lumbering business, which was the in- 
dustry of capital, had taken possession of a vast acre- 
age of timber, and with ax and saw, aided by some of 
the largest mills in the world, was tearing to pieces 
the woods and sending to all parts of the world mate- 
rial to build navies, to erect cities, and to supply the 
constantly increasing deficiency in the production of 
lumber in the older parts of the entire world. 

The sedate life and sober habit of the first settlers 
of Washington Territory, outside of the turbulent ac- 
tivities of the lumber camps, were in marked contrast 
to the fire and recklessness of those who at the call of 
gold had poured into California and into its attached 
territories. Peace dwelt in the homes, violence was 
frowned upon in public places, and public and private 
life exhibited a steadfast allegiance to law and order. 
The ever present Indian was as yet unharmed by vices 
of civilized life, and roamed in the woods, or, in his 
wonderful canoe, conquered the currents of the rivers. 
The "Siwash" was a man of peace, and frecjuently a 
Christian. The holy work of Father De Smet, in his 
mission in the Columbia River Valley, had spread its 
influence throughout the country and made the story 



272 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

of the Virgin, Christ and the Cross a part of the life 
of these simple souls of nature. Among them were 
priests of the ancient church, and well we remember 
one of the great surprises of our life in this connec- 
tion. 

As we were ascending Black River in the early 
hours of a winter morning, in a canoe, we heard a 
matin bell waking the silence. We wondered if we 
were not within the meshes of a delusion, but as we 
swung around a curve in the river, we saw a little 
church, built of logs, above which in the radiant morn- 
ing rose the Cross, the symbol here, in these wild 
woods and among these native tribes, as it had been in 
the midst of Christendom throughout the centuries 
since Calvary, of the Crucified, His Life and Sacrifice. 
A new reverence for all that the Cross stood for in 
the ages past, stands for in the present, and will stand 
for in the future, stole into our hearts, and we felt as 
never before the obligations of the world to the Man 
of Sorrows, and how from Calvary had radiated the 
force that holds mankind to spirituality as gravita- 
tion ties together the planets and the stars. 

Curiosity, mingled with the mood for worship, led 
us to enter the rude church, and we saw what should 
be an answer to all the criticisms of Christianity by 
atheist and pagan, and an example of its influences as 
a force for the enlightenment of man, be he king or 
serf, philosopher or fool. An Indian priest was at 
the altar, Indian men, women and children were 
kneeling in attitudes of prayer; sonorous and majestic 
phrases fell from the priest's lips with the same unc- 
tion and authority as if they fell from the lips of the 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 273 

Pope under the dome of St. Peter's, and in the pres- 
ence of the pomp and splendor of the Vatican services. 
Here again we felt and recognized the power of the 
Great Church that in capital and wilderness, in centers 
of civilization and outlying regions of barbarism, for 
centuries, has worked for the salvation of men of 
every tribe, color and condition. Let it be conceded 
that at times she has been tempted to and has left her 
high estate in the misguided ambition to grasp politi- 
cal and temporal power, yet the world owes to her 
gratitude if only for the police power which she has 
wielded for the good order and government of society. 
In her bosom, for a thousand years, while the dark 
ages clouded the earth, she carried learning and faith 
to deliver them again to men when they were fit to 
receive them, as fresh, beautiful and untarnished as 
when, for protection and preservation, she seized them 
from the chaos of lust and passion. 

Spirituality was carved upon the face of the simple 
Indian priest; radiated from his cheek and brow and 
in the soft lights of his kindly eyes. At the altar, at 
that simple service, he stood a majestic figure, trans- 
figured by the sublime faith of the Man of Nazareth. 

Old Seattle, the chief of the tribe that formerly had 
dominion over that part of the territory lying west 
of the Cascade Mountains, and who had ruled his 
people with equity, was dead. He was cherished in 
memory by his people and his virtues immortalized by 
the white men who founded and named the principal 
Western village of this part of the territory after him. 
If he had any tribal successor, we never heard of him. 
The yielding up of dominion by the Indian was abso- 



274 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

lute; they became the servants of an authority they 
recognized as irresistible, and they took on so much of 
the habits of the new order of life, as they were cap- 
able of, and of course copied the vices of the supe- 
rior man who had dispossest them of their original 
estate. The natural energy of aboriginal days had 
degenerated into an indifference to everything but the 
mere necessities of existence, which they in largest 
number derived from animals of the woods, birds of 
the sky, fishes of the rivers and the Sound, with the 
summer harvest of berries. The more ambitious 
among the younger men acquired skill of the woods- 
man, and competed with the men from Maine and 
Canada with the swinging ax in the white camps 
supplying the mills with logs. In the main they were 
an uncomely race, squatty and bow-legged, a physical 
feature distinguishing them as canoe-dwellers, a sort 
of prenatal defect, as for generations their ancestors 
had lived in canoes, as the natives of China had been 
dwellers in sampans. They loved the waters, and by 
a natural genius for their occupation had evolved a 
type of canoe, carved from the body of the cedar tree, 
of such shape and proportion that it was subsequently 
adopted as the model for the American clipper ship, 
the finest sea-craft of every sea. These wonderful 
canoes were of every size, from that capable of carry- 
ing only one person provided he were skilled in canoe- 
craft, to the stately war canoe, holding a hundred 
warriors. 

The skill with which they drove these canoes 
through the treacherous tide, rips, and currents of the 
Sound, and up the whirling rapids of the rivers, was 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 275 

akin to the occult cunning of the Australian native 
with his boomerang. This skill was transmitted from 
father to son, from mother to daughter, a part of 
native intuition. It was an hereditary gift. They 
were feeders on fish, and in the dark you would with- 
(Uit seeing him discover the presence of a Siwash by 
the fishy odor of smoked salmon. Their simple dwell- 
ings were smoke-houses as well as habitations, and 
everywhere smoked salmon was "rank and smelled to 
heaven." This universal use of salmon as a food was 
the result of the natural indolence, for at certain sea- 
sons these fish crowded the rivers in such countless 
thousands that they could be gathered in great quanti- 
ties by hand. Thus by a small amount of labor they 
secured the sustenance of months. The women, like 
all aborigines, were fond of gaudy colors, loved to 
garb themselves in the seven hues of the rainbow, and 
when they had the price, they were arrayed in all the 
brilliance of a bird of paradise. They lacked grace of 
form and beauty of feature, and they sought to com- 
pensate this by bewildering attire. They were, how- 
ever, modest in demeanor, and as a rule loyal to moral 
law. In this respect our observation of the Indian 
tribes at remote parts of the Coast has led us to be- 
lieve that it needed no Seventh Commandment to 
strengthen the natural conscience of the average Indian 
woman, or to keep her feet in the path in which the 
good woman in all climes and ages has been found. 
There is a commonwealth of fine living everywhere. 
and its citizens are of no particular race, age or faith. 
Entrance to and citizenship in it are limited to the 
pure in heart, be that heart in the breast of the savage 



276 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

or the most highly enlightened. We have been at 
times staggered by the doctrine of "original sin" when 
we discover so much of fine honor in the simple savage, 
and so much of vice in those who dwell in the centers 
of culture and religion. We have known intimately 
Indians whose high code of morals and lofty feeling 
would serve as models for the highest type of moral 
thought and action, and through close relationship 
with them have been led to protest against the theory 
of some of the early religious teachers, that the 
"natural man is at enmity with God." 

Long before Plato had reasoned out from his spirit- 
ual consciousness the immortality of man, the sons 
of nature had become worshipers of the Great Spirit, 
who had spoken to them in the sweep of the sky, the 
song of the bird, the voice of the storm, the summit of 
mountains, and the bloom of blossoms. 

The streets of Seattle were never without their 
group of Siwashes and Clootchmen, lazily watching, 
philosophically and solemnly examining, with inquisi- 
tive eyes, the things* that made up the differences be- 
tween their lives and the lives of white men. Solemnly 
they moved from one point of interest to another, 
seldom speaking, although they were able to do so 
through the Chinook dialect, the universal language of 
the Northwest, formulated by the Hudson Bay Com- 
pany for purposes of profit, by their traders among 
the different tribes of that wide country. The simple 
phrases of the Chinook were easily acquired by white 
man and Indian alike, and were used by them in their 
common intercourse. It was a wonderful medium of 
communication, and in the universality of its use 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 27-7 

almost supplanted among the tribes their native speech. 
It was akin to the Pigeon English of China, and 
served the same purpose for which that quaint mix- 
ture of phrase and accent was brought into being, — 
for trade between the foreigner and the native. These 
manufactured languages outgrew their original pur- 
pose and established a mental bridge between the minds 
of those to whom the acquisition of each other's lan- 
guage would have, been the work of years, and per- 
haps next to impossible. 

If the Siwash had a folk-lore, he kept it locked in 
his heart. He had, however, his songs, made up of a 
weird music — the voices which his ancestors had inter- 
preted from the birds, the breeze, the gurgling of 
streams, the hum of insects and the whistle of wild 
birds on the wing. 

There is a wondrous charm in the whistle of the 
bird on the wing. One afternoon, as I stood on the 
banks of the White River, with the loneliness of the 
woods making me hungry for the sunshine of Cali- 
fornia skies, I looked up into the deeps of the heavens 
for comfort, and lo ! far above me in the radiance 
which the dying day had flung into the sky I saw a 
lone bird on its way toward the North. Faintly I 
heard the beat of its wings against the air, and the 
bird and I at that moment seemed to divide the world 
between us. It was a simple moment, but into it 
swept the beauty of the world, and I felt a gratitude 
to Him who gave to the lone bird its power to cleave 
the reaches of the sky and to me the power to find in 
its flight spiritual significance, I had not for years 
recalled Bryant's "Ode to a Water Fowl," but memory 



278 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

worked her miracle and 1 was able to recall three 
verses of the simple poem, which is at once a poem 
and a prayer: 

"Whither midst falling dews, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far through the rosy deeps 
Dost thou pursue thy solitary way? 

There is a power that guides thy way 
Along that pathless coast, 
The desert and illimitable air, 
Lone, wandering, but not lost. 

He who from zone to zone 

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 

In the long way that I must tread alone 

Will lead my steps aright." 

I may not hope to make any reader understand the 
beauty of this moment. If I could picture truly that 
lone wanderer in the northern sky, it would touch the 
spirit deeper than the glory of mere Italian art, im- 
mortal even in its decadence. The conquest of the 
spirit has been, by reason of the uplift of man from 
form to spirit, from things to ideals, and he who now 
hopes in literature or art to become immortal, must 
appeal to the soul of man and not to his eye alone. 
And so the flight of this lonely bird, as it was to me, 
must be to all the world, if seen as I saw it, an appearl 
to the spirit. 

The Siwash, while he was by a wonderful law exist- 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 279 

ing between tribes which fixed the boundaries of do- 
minion, the unchallenged occupant of this latitude and 
of the regions about the Sound, was not the only 
Indian to be found in the streets of Seattle, for there 
were encountered groups of the Stickeens who occu- 
pied the territory skirting the northern banks of 
Eraser River, overshadowed by volcanic Baker, whose 
dormant fires now and then flamed into the night or 
shot its cloudy steam into the heavens to mingle with 
the fogs of the nearby sea. 

Baker is a noble mountain, a silent hill of snow, 
looking out serenely westward over the fair Georgian 
Gulf, and cooling its feet in the icy Eraser, that from 
the rocky inland rushes to the sea. Its woods slope 
from its snow-line down its flanks to the waters, and 
here beyond memory and tradition had dwelt a peculiar 
race, for they were a race rather than a tribe. In all re- 
spects they were separate from the native people of 
this latitude, — in form, mind and morals. They 
were after their own kind. Some future student may 
be able to gather together out of the dimness of their 
past their origin, for their wise men claim them to be 
a nation, and as a nation they were named "Haidas." 
As a local tribe they were called "Stickeens." This 
name was perhaps more a modern gift of the Hudson 
Bay voyageur, applied to designate them as those 
whose dwelling place was in the country through which 
flowed the Stickeen River. They were as peculiarly 
distinct as the Esquimaux of Alaska, and were doubt- 
less Asiatic in origin as are the Esquimaux. Carv- 
ings upon the prows of their war vessels, their paddles, 
and upon the vessels of domestic use, as well as their 



28o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

religious rites, were suggestive of some other age and 
land. An indefinable mystery seemed always associ- 
ated with them, as hard to analyze, yet as permanent, 
as climate is to a land. Their men were stalwart, 
proud, brave and handsome. A great dignity marked 
their intercourse, and while they were approachable 
through courtesy, he would be a brave man who at- 
tempted coarse familiarity with them. They were at 
first defiant and hostile to the white man, but after 
a number of hot and unsuccessful conflicts, they were 
compelled to concede to superior numbers, and thence- 
forth maintained a sort of armed peace. Doubtless 
the intervening years have numbed their individual- 
ity and the constant touch of the vices of civiliza- 
tion spoiled that fine originality that made them a 
marked people. Their women were fine in form and 
feature, and when interbred with the French voya- 
geur, they were often most beautiful, with faces 
classically delicate, with fawn-like eyes, and a glory of 
hair, and exhibiting in every movement winsome 
grace. 

In comparison with the beauties of other people, 
I have often thought that the most perfectly beautiful 
creature I ever saw among womankind was one of 
these. One Christmas morning, on the shores of 
Lake Union near Seattle, I came upon her suddenly. 
With an old Indian she was fishing, a slight thing, 
about eighteen years of age. When she became con- 
scious of my presence she was startled as a deer is 
when some intruder breaks into her covert. She 
sprang to her feet and stood, with downcast eyes, tall, 
willowy, and swayed to the beat of her quickened 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 281 

heart, and as the color came and went in her cheeks, 
delicate as rose leaves, and as the lights come and go 
in the East at dawn, the sweet modesty of her atti- 
tude adorned her more than laces, and her Indian 
garments woven of rich furs enforced the line and 
curve of her perfect symmetry. I have looked upon 
fair maidens, the product of generations of culture, 
but none was half as fair as this untutored daughter 
of the wilds. It saddened me to think that this 
creature of race, fit to stand proudly before princes, 
must forever "waste her sweetness on the desert air." 
She was a type, for many of the women of the 
Stickeens are surpassingly beautiful. More than one 
white man has been caught in the meshes of their 
charms, and they have become wives, quickly adapting 
themselves to the habits of happy civilized home life. 
Beauty often makes us desperate. Drooping eyes, 
poise of shapely head, curve of lips, the nameless 
grace, alluring, fascinating, changing as lights and 
shadows upon the face of waters, drive us to despair, 
and we stretch out hands to clutch the vacant air. 
Brute passion? No. It is based upon the artistic 
sense which is a part of the passion of the soul, for 
even religion appeals to men, amid the environment 
of soiled things, by a promise of beauty in the land 
where time becomes an eternal morning. The memory 
and the hope of beauty have lightened dungeons and 
made cowards brave in the carnage of battle. This 
love is as much a necessity and a part of us as the 
beat of our hearts. The beauty of a face, out of 
which commonness has been effaced by the fingers 
of the angel, becomes a solace to us, as we realize 



282 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

that all will yet be beautiful if they are good. The 
Psalmist, in the passion and ecstasy of his dream, 
lifted his voice to praise the "beauty of holiness." 
Even things are beautiful. The hills speak to us 
through their rocky lips, the stars make eloquent 
the midnight, and the streams coquetting with gravi- 
tation, laugh with the flowers they nourish. In moun- 
tain shapes, beauty and grandeur sit in royal state. 
They look out upon the world below from sunlit 
thrones of silence. Such is Rainier, a pile of rock 
that since creation's dawn has stood in the Northern 
sky, a thing of unspeakable splendor. 

We shall never forget our first sight of its Western 
face. All day long, in the gloom of dripping woods, 
we had ridden through a lane of towering trees. The 
deep shade was made darker by lowering fogs. De- 
pression became a presence and rode with us in the 
saddle. We knew that somewhere Rainier, near us, 
was lifted above forest and cloud, radiant in the 
sunset. The approaching end of the day warned 
us that we must camp, and in an open space 
that had been eaten out of the forest by the 
fires of some ancient time, we unsaddled our horses 
and sat down upon a log to rest a moment be- 
fore we prepared for the night. We were weary, 
and yielding to the languor of the hour sat silent. 
Words sometimes annoy, and the speech of a 
friend is unwelcome, for weariness is akin to pain. 
This was our mood, and we waited. It was an oc- 
cult hour. Subconsciously we felt that some event 
was about to be a part of the time and place. The 
fog that had hung over us like a pall all day long 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 283 

began to break, and here and there along the lofty 
tree-tops we saw the sheen of lights from the declin- 
ing sun. Suddenly, as parts a curtain drawn from 
across the face of some great picture, the mist parted, 
and before us in the blue of the autumn sky, robed 
in splendor, burning in the fires of the evening sky, 
stood Rainier. Its summits were flaming in the glow 
of the evening; its tremendous bulk suspended from, 
rather than lifted into, the heavens. The indefinable 
majesty stunned our senses, and we looked upon it 
as something that must fade, because unreal ; but as the 
vision stood fixt, its glory overmastered us, and we 
were almost blinded by tears. No man unless despair 
has rolled a stone against the door of his hope, could 
have seen Rainier as we saw it and kept back his tears. 
Often afterwards in all the changes it takes on from 
day and night, from sunlight and cloud, from dawn 
and sunset, white with winter or purple in the bloom 
of summer, we looked upon it, but never did its 
mighty and awful shape seem fairer than it did at the 
moment when first it loomed out of the mist of that 
afternoon. 

Great creations grow upon the mind, and our limited 
faculties have to be expanded by the form and face 
of great things before we may comprehend them fully, 
but there are times when the mind and eye work to- 
gether with infinite cunning and we see and appre- 
ciate from the first the length and breadth and height 
of things that seem immeasurable. These are inspired 
moments when for the time our mental faculties put 
on their divinity, and we see akin to seers. 

Ages could ad4 nothing tQ the inspiring emotion 



284 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

which was with us when on the walls of memory we 
hung the picture of Rainier first seen standing in the 
sun. We saw it last on an afternoon in August, 1905, 
from the windows of a Pullman while passing almost 
the spot where we had first looked upon it, and there 
it stood still, compelling attention, serene as it had 
stood since volcanic fires lifted it into the heavens. 
A great peace abides now in gorge and peak and 
crag, for its fires have gone out and radiance and 
beauty have taken the place of flame and ashes. 

Baker is within its horizon, and they salute across 
the solitudes of the sky, in the lights of the morning, 
and through the hours that belong to the silence of 
the stars. Why cross the seas to look upon Mt. Blanc, 
when here, in our own land, loom mountains whose 
majesty dwarfs Mt. Blanc's shape into the propor- 
tions of a hill? 

Local geographers, aided by the loyalty of those 
who hope to give to the nomenclature of Washington 
a local flavor, have renamed the mountain "Tacoma," 
but the name of the old English Admiral clings to it 
with a persistence that is the despair of those at whose 
hands it had the new baptism. The romance of the 
first name has made the old name as hard to displace 
as it would be to re-name Marathon or Damascus. 
It is a reigning mountain and "Rainier" in suggestive 
euphony clings to it. Be it, however, "Tacoma" or 
"Rainier," it will ever be a ruling summit of the 
world. 

Our first glimpse of Seattle was from the East, 
from the slopes and the uplands now occupied by state- 
ly edifices and threaded by avenues and streets, but 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 285 

in that day dark with the shadow of untouched 
woods, through which, to accommodate the settlers of 
the White and Black Rivers, for a distance of some 
twenty miles, a solitary road had been cut. It was 
an accommodation only, and principally a trail for 
footmen, for the highway of whatever traffic existed 
between the little village and the outlying settler 
was Dwamish River, and the means of transportation 
the canoe and the light-draft stern-wheel steamer. 
Horses and wagons were almost unknown. The farmer 
going to town took to his canoe, or walked, — more 
often walked, unless he was accompanied by some of 
the women-folks of his household, and then usually 
he awaited the coming of the little steamer that at 
intervals plied upon the river. The sparse popula- 
tion did not supply travelers sufficient to warrant a 
regular time-table, and steamers came and went when 
they were notified that a cargo was ready for them. 
These crude little steamers truly constituted accom- 
modation lines. Potatoes were then the usual cargo; 
the rich loam of the river bottoms, reclaimed from the 
forest, produced marvelous yields in quantity and 
quality of this staple product. Commercial returns, 
in these later days, indicate that the hop fields have 
displaced the potato field, and the world's traffic taken 
the place of the primitive trade. 

As we emerged from the shadow before us, clear 
and blue stretched that view of the Sound which is 
to-day one of the charms of the modern city. The 
forest has disappeared, the silence is made noisy with 
the voices of man and his occupation. Romance has 
yielded to commerce and the mar of man's hand is 



286 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

visible in the mutilation of things that were sweet in 
their primitive beauty. The spell of the wilderness 
has been broken and destroyed, but as I saw them 
first, with the joy of youth, on that winter day, the 
Olympics still duplicate their procession of snowy 
summits in the blue waters, and hold possession of the 
solitudes of the lonely peninsula which lies between the 
Sound and the Sea. Baker still lifts its royal shape, 
visible from points over the verdure of the untouched 
forests, and Rainier is recreated in the mirror of sun- 
lit tides. 

The only thing visible, not beautiful, was the little 
town itself. It stood amid its splendid surroundings 
like a beggar in a palace, wandering in his rags amid 
glorious pictures and fondling with soiled hands the 
priceless treasures of art. In a scenic sense, its diame- 
ter was the shores of the Sound ; its half circum- 
ference guarded by a line beginning with the old 
University buildings on the North, skirting the 
Eastern rim of the forest, to end where the mud flats 
on the South stayed the line of occupation. It was 
as devoid of beauty as the form of a frowsy squaw. 
Yessler's wharf and warehouse held the water front, 
Horton's store the center of the town, and all the 
remainder of the town went as it pleased. It had no 
civic features and was as devoid of architecture as an 
Indian campoodia. It seemed as if it was a place that 
man had not intentionally come to, but had been cast 
there by accident, like driftwood upon a shore. It 
had no municipal ambitions, made no boasts, and its 
mixed population of whites and Indians, amounting 
•to about twelve hundred, were content to exist rather 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 287 

than to live; and who could blame them, for there 
were no visible inspiring things to live for, and im- 
agination seemed powerless to build for it any dreams. 
Syracuse, on the shores of the Mediterranean, in 
her ruin, suggests a certain dignity, and a poet 
wandering in her forsaken palaces has written: 

"And Syracuse with pensive mien, 
In solitary pride, 
Like an unthroned but tameless queen, 
Crouched by the lucid tide." 

No poetic instinct could have been stirred by any- 
thing human about Seattle in 1866. We will not be 
charged with any ill will towards the little settlement 
in what we write, for we speak only of then existing 
conditions, logically resulting from a minus quantity. 
There was nothing to stimulate civic pride; every- 
thing was in a drift period. If Seattle could have had 
a symbol to express her mood, it would have been a 
kingfisher sitting on a dead limb waiting for his prey. 
It was well that her men were young, and that before 
them the lanes of hope reached into the future. They 
were not lacking in energy. There was simply no 
field for action, and endeavor to force things would 
have been a useless waste of power; would have torn 
to pieces the faculties and made shipwreck of effort. 
An unduly active man would have been like a mill 
without grist, its wheels running wild, and its ma- 
chinery grinding in a vacuum. 

What a site it was for one of the world's great 
cities; a splendid capital of commerce, into whose 



288 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

lap vast territories of the North and the deeps of the 
nearby seas should pour unmeasured riches; to whose 
adornment art should work and new beauty be 
created; to whose population the nations should con- 
tribute; in whose streets should be heard the voices 
of Europe, Asia and Egypt; to whose luxury conti- 
nents and zones and isles of the sea should yield their 
choicest cargoes. 

Though a beardless boy, a mere scribbler in the 
streets of the slouchy little settlement of 1866, our 
newspaper instinct for matter which the public cared 
to read led us to make careful estimates of the re- 
sources that seemed necessarily contributing to make 
her som.e time, perhaps in the remote future, an im- 
portant city. We made a study of maps ; gathered to- 
gether statistics; inquired into the acreage of forest 
and agricultural lands; became familiar with climatic 
influences; measured the distances across the sea and 
continent, between Asia and Europe, by lines which 
led through Seattle. We applied to all of these the 
historic relations of trade to situation, and the build- 
ing forces which create commercial centers and sus- 
tain them by trade gravitations. We found that all the 
roads led, not to Rome, but to Seattle. We applied to 
knowledge, imagination, and peopled the unknown, 
unmeasured and almost immeasurable regions of the 
North with industrious people, although these lands 
were then held in alien hands. From out this mass 
we dreamed our dream and wrote our prophecy. I 
do not know whether it was ever read, but it was 
published, and I recall that Horton, then a young 
merchant, controlling the principal trade in his little 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 289 

store, as much by sales to Indians as to whites, laughed 
me to scorn and said, "You are crazy to write such 
stuff." Some years afterwards he left Seattle, but 
he was not contented with the change, and returned, 
to build and maintain, I believe, upon the site of his 
little store, a splendid bank building in which he and 
his associates, to the day of his death, dealt in millions 
locally produced. He lived to verify my "crazy" 
dream, and to glory in the wealth and beauty of a 
great city. 

A new generation has possession, and with rare ex- 
ceptions the greatest stranger in the streets of Seattle 
to-day, as in Los Angeles, is the oldest inhabitant. 
The stride of greatness was too rapid for the old feet. 
The brilliance of new conditions had in it so much 
of white heat, of rushing, restless, mad activity, that 
the old eyes were blinded and they stared at the marvel 
of growth, and strangers' hands gathered up the 
things that made for wealth and power. We could 
at this time have acquired a tract of land of one 
hundred and sixty acres, then in the forest just be- 
yond the occupied limits of the town, now crowned 
by great buildings, for five hundred dollars. Who 
could have told the hour when in the far-off years, by 
resources then unknown, this commercial miracle 
should make the site of wild woods the foundation of 
palaces ? 

I left Seattle in the early spring of 1867, and did 
not see her again until in August, 1905. Our ap- 
proach to the city at this time was a romance. It had 
in it the charm of a fine dream. We were return- 
ing from Nome, and our ship approached the city 



290 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

after dark. The night was perfect, and as we plowed 
our way over the still waters and under the shadows 
of the cliffs, we looked out from the prow of the 
steamer to where, in the sheen of starlike lights, in- 
expressibly blended and too beautiful for anything but 
the homage of silence, rose from its semi-circle of low- 
lands, upon the slopes of the highlands, the superb and 
matchless city of our boyish prophecy and dream. It 
was a great moment to us, as memory flung open the 
gateway of the years and we stood between the con- 
trasts of 1867 and 1905. 

The morning after our arrival we wandered off 
from the ship, down the streets lined with banks, 
hotels and stores, noisy with trafific, and gay with 
crowds, where as a lad we had walked among primitive 
structures, along unpaved streets, the companions of 
Indians and Halfbreeds. The water-front thrilled 
with the activities of great ships, loading and unload- 
ing their varied cargoes. All seemed unreal, and we 
were in a maze as one who in the desert sees in the 
mirage visions of cities whose temples, palaces and 
towers are the illusions of air. Memory would have 
her way, and in the restless commotion and life we 
were alone again in the little crude settlement, dream- 
ing our dreams. 

There is always a waste and loss in the building of 
great cities; insatiate monsters, they trample under 
foot things historic and sacred. If trade needed it, 
men would erect a modern hotel upon the site of the 
Temple in Jerusalem, and cut down the Mount of 
Olives to make way for a modern railway station. 
Architecture is useless except to adorn the street front 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 291 

of a bank, or to make attractive to the taste or vanity 
of a tourist the abomination and discomfort of the 
twentieth century apartment house. 

This ruthless spirit is not unknown in modern 
Seattle, where new people have laid violent hands upon 
beauty, and in their adaptation of conditions to the 
demands of commerce or luxury, changed the face of 
nature. Beyond the reach of the iconoclast, the muti- 
lations of the men of affairs, there are sceneries about 
Seattle which they can not touch. The glories of the 
Sound, the majesty of the Olympics, the guardian- 
ship of Rainier, are immortal. The sun still from the 
mists builds the radiant summer clouds and piles them 
along the summit of the mountains across the Sound. 
But the primal charms of Lakes Union and Washing- 
ton are departed forever. We could not recognize 
them as the placid waters that in our day stretched out 
from wooded bank to bank, bound in the silence of un- 
disturbed days, inviting from the sky countless flocks 
of water birds that in safety homed among the rushes 
and led their young broods out into their bosoms, to 
learn the cunning of their kind, and spread their wings 
in the sunny mornings. Serene days we had here, 
drifting in a canoe, wild and free, alone upon the 
sunny waters, with no life visible except the lazy drift 
of smoke from some Indian hut. No voices were 
there but those of happy birds sporting in the waters 
calling to their mates. Nature was absolute. This 
was her kingdom of peace and beauty. All is gone 
except the lakes themselves. Pleasure-seeking crowds 
wander in the ancient isles of silence. Resorts for 
men's pleasure stand on their shores. The inevitable 



292 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

railroad connects them with the city, and travel makes 
noisy the quiet of the old days. 

There is much beauty in man's work here, which 
one encounters on every hand, but the nameless charm 
of the wilderness is not even a memory, except to one 
who, like myself, looked upon them when they were 
fresh with the unmarred features of their creation. 

As a part of the record of the early settlement of 
Seattle there are names, which should be mentioned, 
of men who by heroism of service became a part of 
national history. 

I. I. Stevens, who fell in the carnage of Chantilly. 
McClellan and Sheridan, then young lieutenants 
without fame, were identified with the protection of the 
territory at the hands of the general government 
against hostile Indians. Theodore Winthrop, a gal- 
lant soul, who also died at the head of his company 
at Big Bethel, made before the time of which I write 
a lone horseback ride from the Sound across the in- 
land deserts to civilization, with Indian guides, and 
made this trip the theme of a fascinating story under 
the title, "Canoe and Saddle." I do not know whether 
the libraries of Seattle have this rare book upon their 
shelves but, if so, the modern citizen will be enter- 
tained by its thrilling pages. The body of a man 
never held a more heroic soul and dauntless spirit 
than that of I. I. Stevens, frail tho it was. The 
history of heroism would be made brilliant by the 
story of his fearless life, as Governor of Washington, 
and as a General in the Civil War. To fear he was 
a stranger, and his magnetic courage more than once, 
in perilous places, met and mastered the savage hate 



FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 293 

of murderous Indian chiefs, who during his adminis- 
tration harassed the sections lying East of the 
Cascades. 

From out the memory of the little village of 1867 
we hail the great city of the Northwest and salute her 
in her place of dominion and wealth. 



Chapter XVt 

THE DISCOVERY AND EVOLUTION OF 
A POET 

XF the Wrights, with their latest aeroplane, should 
"■■ take a trip easterly from Suisun City, in Solano 
County, California, for a distance of eight miles, they 
would sail over a little round valley, in which is situ- 
ated a lagoon, and so it is called Lagoon Valley. This 
valley will be found environed by hills as sweet as 
those that stood about Jerusalem, rising, undulating, 
with woods and poppies, toward the sunny sky. Here, 
in his boyhood, lived, grew and suffered a great poet, 
to go forth finally and become one of the world's 
seers and a force for righteousness. In the years of 
which I write, this valley was owned almost exclu- 
sively by Don Pena, a proud Spaniard, who held title 
thereto by Mexican grant. Here, in baronial state, he 
lived in ease and pride, surrounded by his pastures, 
over which roamed countless herds of cattle and 
horses. As was usual on those baronial estates, there 
lived in primitive state a local tribe of Digger In- 
dians, who held the relation of retainers to the lord 
of the manor and subsisted upon his bounty. These 
natives of the most wonderful of all the lands on the 
Pacific, destined in the hands of a new race to be the 

294 



THE EVOLUTION OF A POET 295 

seat of empire, were of the lowest type, exhibited no 
physical perfection, no courage, none of the character- 
istics of other tribes who possest as their home and 
heritage less favored places of the coast. 

These Diggers were, in both sexes, ungainly in form, 
flabby of face, with their chief quality exhibited in 
an unfailing languor. Before the advent in any num- 
bers of the white man, they held undisputed posses- 
sion of the larger portion of California lying south 
of Mt. Shasta, and extending to Arizona and Mexico. 
They did not live; they existed only, content to be 
alive, subsisting scantily upon the meanest of things. 
Though the mountains were filled with game, and the 
valleys capable of producing abundant crops, they were 
too stupid to lift their hands in their sustenance, were 
content to gather the grasshoppers and feed upon the 
lizard. To them the larvae of the wasp dug from the 
ground was a delicacy. They raised no warlike hands 
against the invader of their domain, and soon became 
hangers-on to the estates of the stranger. In all of 
the years that I have known these tribes, and many of 
the thousands I have seen, I never saw a comely 
maiden or a handsome man. Young and old, male 
and female, they were squatty, ungainly and lazy. 
To them never came the *'call of the wild." They 
climbed the slopes of glorious mountains, only to 
gather the nuts of the pine. They roamed the sunlit 
fields, glorified by the poppy and made m.usical by the 
lark, but to them came no inspiration. The environ- 
ment of generations of beauty had left no mark on 
form or feature, and they Vv-ere hardly fit to be the 
"brother to the ox." 



296 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

I have at some length written of these poor speci- 
mens of the natural man here, because they were a 
part of the environment of the youthful days of the 
poet of whom I write. 

Besides the Don, his herds and the Indians, a few 
Americans had settled, by consent of the landowner, 
and in the most primitive way were pursuing the 
vocation of the farmer, content with little, expect- 
ing- nothing, living only to be alive. 

In the low-lying hills that formed the wall of this 
valley, on a little ranch, secluded and lonely, lived 
and grew the boy whose name is and has been for 
years a household word, whose noble face, eloquent 
with the beauty of lofty living, has become familiar 
to the world of letters as one of its choicest spirits. 
He grew strong, physically, in the wholesome sweet- 
ness of the atmosphere about him, and when I first met 
him, he was a robust young savage. There was the 
subconscious poise of power in head and shoulders. 
He was a giant, who was disposed to use his strength 
in defiant resistance to those who attempted to exert 
authority over him. When I first saw him, there were 
in his face lines that were prophetic, but the scowl 
of resistance was the dominant feature. Had it not 
been for the eye, that window of the soul, I would 
have been fearful of a contest with him, for I was 
in authority over him, and authority was that which 
brought out of his soul its fighting energy. This dis- 
position has more than once led him into dangerous 
places, and would under misdirected conditions have 
made shipwreck of his life. There were deep-seated 
reasons for this resistance, needless to discuss, for 



THE EVOLUTION OF A POET 297 

there are things in this life too sacred for speech, — 
things which when dead we wrap in purple and fine 
linen, anoint, and with frankincense and myrrh lay 
away with tears and thankfulness forever. Suffice to say 
that while these reasons made his young life piteous 
in its desolation, they did not touch him in any way 
that marred his spirit. They were simply a part of 
his environment, part of his development. Life is a 
mystery, whose depths and heights we may neither 
probe nor ascend, and who can say that the loneli- 
ness of these desolate years was not the cradle in which 
the genius of this boy was wrought into deathless 
power, — who knows? Doubtless it drove him for 
consolation to listen to the song of the lark as she 
sang to him at the g^tes of the dawn ; to go forth into 
the solemn splendor of the midnight and to cry unto 
the stars, until from off the glorious islands of the sky 
there descended upon his spirit beauty and peace. He 
learned the language of the woods and to interpret 
the voices of their dwellers, and when aspiration 
faltered and hope deferred was sick unto death, he 
lifted his eyes up to the radiance of the summer 
heavens, and knew that somewhere, out of all this 
loneliness and despair, in God's universe, there must 
be peace. Might it not have been here, when he was 
treading the wine-press alone, that he acquired that 
marvelous fiber of patience that has been the sweet- 
ness of his many glorious later years. 

Want of companionship had much to do with the 
restlessness of his spirit. He was easily chief of the 
youths about him, and while they admired and fol- 
lowed him as their leader, he stood alone among them. 



298 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

In their limited minds he found no answering re- 
sponse; in their hearts no cord of spiritual sympathy. 
They were to him as the clods of the field to the eagle 
in the sky. He dreamed of, but had no touch with, 
the outer world, and the dull life of the ranch and 
of the little valley were all that he personally knew 
of the great world lying beyond the rim of the hills 
that bounded his home. But, as was said by Dr. 
Charles Wadsworth, the great Presbyterian preacher, 
in one of his sermons : "Man knows that he is im- 
mortal by the motions of his spiritual instinct, as the 
eagle chained in the market place knows by the in- 
stinctive flutter of his wings, that his home is in the 
upper deep." And so, by a like instinct, this lonely, 
restless boy, chained to the limitations of an unevent- 
ful life, and buried on a lonely ranch in the hills, 
hungered for great things. He could not "live by 
bread alone," and, strong as was the animal in him, 
its passions left the spirit unsatisfied. 

This was the life and condition of Edwin Markham, 
the poet and seer, in 1867, when I met him first, and 
this is the story of our relations and of his redemp- 
tion. 

In 1867, there stood just five miles Northeast of 
Suisun City, a little schoolhouse, which had been 
known for many years as the "Black Schoolhouse." 
It is not there now, for by a fatal practise of our 
people we eliminate historic places. On my return 
from Seattle, after my eight-hundred-mile ride, I was 
put to the necessity of earning bread, and had to do 
what I could to recoup a depleted pocket, and so I 
turned to the only occupation I was then familiar 



THE EVOLUTION OF A POET 299 

with — teaching school. I did not know at first where 
to go, but remembering that I had once been a pupil 
in the Black School, I applied to the Board of Trustees 
for a position there. I was a lean, fragile fellow. 
My personal acquaintance with one of the trustees 
was a suggestion that I might possibly acquire the 
school. I applied to him, and he said, "You can't 
teach this school." I said, "Why?" And he replied, 
"You haven't the physical capacity." I did not at 
first understand and said, "What do you mean?" He 
said, "There is a boy in this district who has broken 
up the last two schools and whipt the schoolmaster." 
"Well," I said, "is that the only objection to me?" 
And he said, "Ts that not enough?" I said, "No, I 
do not know the boy, but I can assure you that if he 
is as big as Goliath and as brave sfs Caesar, he will 
not break up my school." The trustee smiled in scorn 
and I then said, "Let us make a contract that if I am 
given the school and this boy breaks it up, even at 
the end of the last hour of the last day of the term, 
you will not owe me a cent." And then, after a week's 
negotiations, I became the master, and entered upon 
my duties. 

A week passed, and no incorrigible boy appeared, 
but on the first morning of the second week in 
walked a splendid specimen of stalwart boyhood, 
broad-shouldered, straight and arrogant. I saw 
at once that I was up against his destiny and 
my fee for teaching for a term; and we both won. 
By a psychological instinct we both knew our day 
had come, and we took moral measurement, one 
of the other, as well as of the situation. For a 



300 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

week he came and went without any sign of insubordi- 
nation, without any indication of what was in his 
mind, but one quiet afternoon, while my face was 
turned to the blackboard, illustrating some problem to 
a class of simple-minded scholars, to whom there was 
no future except to become competent, after a com- 
mon-school education, to exist upon a farm; to work, 
to plow, to sow and to reap the products of their 
fields, and to eat and sleep — there came a sudden out- 
burst of laughter. As I looked over the school, I saw 
one calm face, the face of Markham, and I knew the 
culprit. I said quietly, looking into his eyes, "There 
must have been some very funny thing happened to 
have made you all laugh, and when something funny 
happens, people are entitled to laugh," and I turned 
again to my blackboard. That look into the eyes of 
Markham was the beginning of a new day. To him at 
that moment there came the sense of forces greater 
than he knew and his soul lifted its face to me as in 
a vision. 

When the hour came for dismissal of the school, 
I said, "Markham, I want you to stay after 
school; I want to speak to you." The entire school 
was alert, as they thought that the conflict was again 
on. The school was dismissed, but the scholars 
lingered, expectant, and I said to them, "Go on to 
your homes; there is nothing between Markham and 
myself that concerns you." They went, and Markham 
and I had our hour alone. He remembers that hour, 
for it was the supreme hour of his life. I took up 
with him the afternoon's laugh of the school and that 
he was the incitement thereof, and then I went over 



THE EVOLUTION OF A POET 301 

with him the lonehness of his hfe, of which he did 
not know I knew: the piteous childhood of which he 
wrote in after years, and of which neither he nor I 
ever spoke again, I recounted enough of his life 
to show him that I was not ignorant thereof, and that 
I had seen in his brow and eye the promise of high 
achievement, and that of all the pupils I had, he alone 
was the one to whom my heart had turned and with 
whom I desired to measure the great things that were 
to aspiring souls possible. I recalled to him the fact 
that we were both young men, of about the same age, 
and that the world held much in common for us. 
Shall he or I ever forget that hour! I do not want 
to forget it and I know he does not. He looked at 
me with longing eyes, at first defiant, and then chang- 
ing to a wondrous sweetness as I touched his spirit. 
As we talked, he broke down and leaning his head 
upon the desk sobbed out his grief, and when he looked 
up I saw the spirit which in these later days has made 
him a prophet of righteousness. He was "born 
again." I said, "Go home and come back to me in 
the morning with all the past sloughed off." Obedi- 
ently he went, and came in the morning just as I had 
suggested. He took off of my hands all of the younger 
scholars, teaching them their simple lessons, so that I 
was enabled to give to him more time in his studies. 
He was in a class alone. We worked together, and 
began together our climb to better things. Well I 
knew that he was destined to greatness, but I did not 
as yet fully comprehend his powers, or the trend and 
breadth of his mind. 

The school lasted for three months, and I left the 



302 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

neighborhood, and for several years after the close of 
the school I was engaged with my own work and lost 
sight of Markham. His genius had not developed, for 
great things move slowly, and I heard that he wrought 
with his hands for bread in a blacksmith shop. His 
genius was incubating, I was not impatient, for I 
knew what the future held for him, and the next I 
heard was that he was the Principal of the Tompkins 
School in Oakland. This was an advance from the 
blacksmith shop, but was still far beneath his capacity, 
and his possible achievements. But at last, on a 
January morning, in San Francisco, as I wended my 
way homeward from church I purchased an Ex- 
aminer and read in it, "The Man with the Hoe." It 
stirred me as the trumpet did the old warhorse, and 
I immediately wrote to him, "Your time has come to 
leave the narrow walls of the school-room and to take 
your place among the workers of the world." I do 
not know how much influence this letter had, but the 
next I heard of him was that he was in New York, 
had identified himself with some of the publishing 
firms of that city, engaged in that work that has not 
only engrossed him but is enriching the world. 

It will be no violation of the ethics to expose the 
beautiful relations that have for nearly half a century 
existed between myself and the seer to quote from 
some late letters. In one of March 26th, 1909, he 
said : "It was a thrill of pleasure to see again your 
well-remembered handwriting. You know, of course, 
that you were one of the few noble influences in 
my lonely and sorrowful boyhood. Once in those 
old days you wrote me a beautiful letter, which I have 



THE EVOLUTION OF A POET 303 

kept until this hour, * * * f^w j^g q£ your 
fortunes * * * Fortunes? Well, I believe more 
and more as the years go on, that only one thing mat- 
ters greatly — to live a good life. This conviction is an 
echo from your own letter to me, the one you sent me in 
my friendless youth." This letter is now forty years of 
age, and will illustrate the tenderness of the relations 
which existed between us in the early time. 

On May 5th, 1909, he wrote saying : "I wish I could 
return to California and go out to walk with you over 
the Suisun Hills. They are to me a place of tender and 
piteous memories. It was there that I met you, the be- 
loved friend of my boyhood, and it was there that I 
spent the years of my lonely and romantic youth." 

In Markham's earlier songs are disclosed his touch 
with Nature, and his deep love for the simple things 
of the woods and fields. His "A Prayer" was the 
deep utterance of a life devoutly grateful for its rela- 
tion of the flowers, the grasses and the simple rocks 
around which they grew, and where the little insects 
had a home. They touched his spirit and he sang: 

"Teach me, Father, how to go 
Softly as the grasses grow; 
Hush my soul to meet the shock 
Of the wild world as a rock ; 
But my spirit, propt with power, 
Make as simple as a flower." 

But he understands men also; so it was fitting that 
this backwoods boy should write "Lincoln the Man of 
the People," a poem that closes with the stately lines: 



3'04 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

"And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down 
As when a lofty cedar green with boughs 
Goes down with a great shout upon the hills, 
And leaves a lonesome place against the sky." 

His mind absorbed subconsciously minor beauty. 
There stood to him no towering mountains, stern- 
faced with grandeur, and about whose crags sported 
the lightning and the storm. He had not as yet heard 
the voices of the seas as they beat upon the shores of 
the continent, and so he touched his harp and lifted 
up his voice to sing of what he knew. He was not as 
yet equal to "the long reaches of the peaks of song." 
His poetic retreat was in "a valley in the summer 
hills," haunted by little winds and daffodils, and he 
saw "dim visions lightly swing in silent air." 

I have not met Markham for many years, and when 
I last saw him in San Francisco, I think in 1871, he 
gave no especial indication of his rarer powers. If 
I remember rightly, he was either then working at 
the forge, or had just left it, and was, tho ambitious, 
drifting, — his faculties incubating, and the fibers of 
his mind slowly hardening into the strength of his 
maturer years. More than any man I have ever 
known, he seems to have the growing mind — never 
restless, but steadily moving upward, ever enlarging 
in capacity for work — a marvelous climbing force, 
with an endless reach toward the noblest and the finest 
in human thought. A deep religious instinct is in 
all his thought, and a profound love for all humanity 
has become the climate of his mind. There is an in- 
tense, moral beat to his heart. No sentimental weak- 



THE EVOLUTION OF A POET 305 

ness mars the swing of his song, or hides in the phil- 
osophy of his prose. Robust, he wars with the might 
of great convictions against the injustice of the world 
to the lowly. He has become the prophet of humanity, 
and its cry has come up to him out of the deeps of 
all the ages of "man's inhumanity to man." He sings 
no more of birds and bees and flowers and sunny hills ; 
his inspiration no more is fed by the beauty of in- 
animate things ; to him the oracle has spoken, and from 
the heights he struggles for man against the wrong 
of centuries, and he strives as a master in his work 
for humanity. To him has come: 

"A pitiless cry from the oppressed — 
A cry from the toilers of Babylon for their rest. — 
O Poet, thou art holden with a vow : 
The light of higher worlds is on thy brow, 
And Freedom's star is soaring in thy breast. 
Go, be a dauntless voice, a bugle-cry 
In darkening battle when the winds are high — 
A clear sane cry wherein the God is heard 
To speak to men the one redeeming word." 

To have had part In the direction of Markham's 
early life; to have aided and encouraged him in his 
youth, when misdirection doubtless would have been 
fatal, and all of his splendid powers have passed into 
darkness, has been a matter of congratulation and 
encouragment to me, when hope deferred made the 
heart sick and the lure of vanities was in my own 
blood. The story of his life is full of marvelous 



3o6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

charm, and the most indifferent are moved by the 
recital of its pathetic incidents. 

I have been often asked, in making pubHc addresses, 
to tell the story, and I do not always feel at liberty 
to refuse. One of these occasions occurred while 
making a political canvass in 1899. I made a speech 
at lone, in Amador County, and among the audience 
was the superintendent of a school sustained by the 
State, situated at this little town. He came to me 
at the end of the speech and asked me if I would not, 
on the next morning, come to the school and give 
his boys a little talk. I did so, and when we met in 
the main hall of the building, in front of me were 
about one hundred boys, aged from eight to eighteen. 
There were also present a number of ladies and gentle- 
men, teachers in the institution. Some angel, it must 
have been, whispered 'Tell them Markham's story," 
and after a few words of advice and in commendation 
of the teachers, and recalling to them the kindness 
of the State in giving them an opportunity for educa- 
tion, I began the simple story of the early association 
of myself with Markham. I traced his career from 
the friendless boy, my experience with him, some fea- 
tures of his unhappy life, and his resistance to his 
environment, which came near marring his noble 
nature. After leading the audience along by these 
statements, which commanded the closest attention, 
I ended the story with this climax: "And this boy 
is the man who wrote, 'The Man with the Hoe' !" A 
tremendous burst of applause from the boys greeted 
this statement, and round after round followed the 
first outburst. The story had touched them deeply 



THE EVOLUTION OF A POET 307 

and when the applause had quieted, I looked around 
and saw tears in the eyes of every man, and many of 
the women were sobbing. I asked one of them, when 
she was able to speak, "Why are you weeping?" And 
she said, "We are weeping for joy. Why did you try 
to break our hearts with such a story?" And I re- 
plied, "I do not know why, but evidently the story 
was human and touched you all deeply, for which I 
am grateful." 

Oftentimes we grow impatient and restless in our 
criticism of human nature, and are disposed to give 
to it but slight credit for high thinking, and yet to 
him who has had experience with audiences, it is an 
unfailing truth that the human story will touch the 
dullest audience. All hearts feel at times the pulsa- 
tion of the divine, and we know that there is a divin- 
ity in man altho at times it lies, like the precious ore 
in the mines, far down in the deep. 

Markham has, in the highest degree, the inter- 
mixture of the artistic sense with cool reason. Per- 
haps all poets have this, for in all times and languages 
they have been the heart's interpreter unto itself. By 
"poet" I mean him who comes within the definition 
the "Poets are the prophets of God" — not the skilful 
artificers in words, mere musicians, who, out of con- 
sonant and vowel, weave, with cunning, sweet phrases 
of speech. He speaks ex cathedra, and before he 
voices his thought, it passes in review before the 
court of his conscience. There is in him no confusion 
of tongues. He declares with authority, and leaves 
his justification to the consciences of men. He speaks 
clear-voiced through a trumpet, to the children of 



3o8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

men. A stalwart figure in literature, he stands for 
righteousness of thought and action. This quality 
found expression in "The Man with the Hoe," and 
is what at once commanded the attention and respect 
of the world of letters. So unerring is this faculty, 
that even though his phrase may be faulty at times, 
the spirit of his song carries it into immortality. No 
wonder the most merciless critic of our times, Am- 
brose Bierce, with whom I once talked of Markham, 
and who, without pity, beats down with bludgeon or 
pierces with rapier, the upstart in literature, after 
patient review has said that Markham is the greatest 
poet that has appeared in the last twenty-five years. 

Not long ago a distinguished orator of the Meth- 
odist Church, whose sermons are finest specimens of 
poetic prose, wrote me from a temporary retirement, 
'T long again to fly and sing." To sing is the passion 
of great souls. 

I have not been able to put into words what I 
wanted to say, and what I have imperfectly written 
is to express, in a measure, the fulfilment of that 
which forty years ago I knew by prophetic instinct 
Markham must be — a master among men, somehow 
and somewhere, standing like a Corinthian column, 
majestic and strong — speaking of great things with 
authority. 



Chapter XVII 

INTO THE DESERT 

TN 1882 we went into the desert for the first time 
''' and spent weeks in its sohtudes, in the presence 
of wonderful creations wrought by the primal forces 
of the world in which volcano, cataclysm, earthquake 
and flame were the artists and builders. We were in 
search for relief from a malarial attack from which 
we suffered, as the gift of hydraulic mining in Placer 
County. Our trip led into the desert lying in the 
triangle, two sides of which are made by Arizona and 
Nevada, in which is situated Death Valley. Our 
spirit was tired from the drain of fever. It was a 
lonely man who left San Francisco one hot summer 
day, destined, down the San Joaquin Valley, to 
Caliente. The heat, dust and the parched plains visible 
from the car windows were not factors to elevate the 
spirits of one worn and weary, and it is remembered 
to this day as a desolate ride. At midnight we reached 
Caliente, a little village lying at the foot of the Teha- 
chapi Mountains, where the railroad begins its wonder- 
ful ascent into the Mojave Desert. I was the only 
passenger leaving the train. This was enough in the 
darkness and solitude to have chilled the spirit. We 
saw only one light in the town and to it we wended 

309 



3IO LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

our way, hunting for a place to rest. It was a little 
dirty hotel which, if it had been peaceful, would have 
been repellent. We found it full of rude sheep- 
shearers, drunk and turbulent. We were well drest, : 
and as we walked in, we noticed a sudden silence fall! 
upon the group. We found the proprietor and asked 
him if he could give us a bed. He was sober; looked 
us over a moment and taking us by the arm walked 
us to the door and said, "This is no place for you 
and I advise you to hunt for some other house." ^He 
kindly led us out into the night and pointing to a 
house some distance away said that doubtless we could 
find entertainment there. It was a kindly act, for we 
doubt not that we might have been in danger had 
we remained amid these wild, drunken men. 

In the morning a little stage drove up and we were 
informed that it was the Inyo stage. We were the 
only passenger, and the prospect for the day's ride 
was not inspiring to a sick man. We climbed the 
Tehachapi Mountains, and soon reached what is known 
as Warm Springs Valley, a high and level desert 
valley, watered by irrigating ditches and supporting 
a large population. From this point the country be- 
came new to us. We had never seen the desert be- 
fore, and its features were fascinating. Through this 
valley we drove for miles. The things that were most 
attractive were the peculiarly constructed and colored 
hills which stood round about as its exterior boundary. 
They were treeless mounds, mere volcanic puffs, with 
a surface and color as smooth as that of a Jersey cow. 
We have never seen again this peculiar hill formation 
and coloring. 



INTO THE DESERT 311 

As we drove along, the desert features became more 
pronounced and the ride more desperately lonesome. 
We were not in the mood to appreciate, as we did 
afterwards in the flush of strength and health, the 
forces which uplifted the hills and mountains about 
us and stretched between them the gorges. 

Toward night we reached Walker's Pass, a histori- 
cal transverse valley, which for years had been a part 
of the trail through which emigrants had come into 
California. Atmospheric conditions in the desert are 
always uncertain, and as we drove into the Pass, a 
high wind storm, set in motion by the heat of the 
valley, and the cold white snow summits not far dis- 
tant, blew with terrific force, rocking the stage from 
side to side. We had heard that these sudden wind 
storms were often of great violence and we verified 
this fact at a later date, when we were lost in one of 
the stand storms which are liable to occur at any mo- 
ment in the desert. The desolation of the Pass, as it 
was at this moment, is indescribable, paralleled only 
by some of the pages in Dore's illustrations of Dante's 
Inferno. The floor of the Pass had been swept by the 
hoofs of hundreds of thousands of sheep driven 
through during the summer until it was robbed of 
every vestige of green and looked as if it had been 
swept by flame. Thousands of these sheep had died, 
and the air was heavy with the stench of putrefaction. 
This added to the gloom which pressed down upon 
us like a physical weight. 

Just as the sun was slanting to the horizon, the 
sky became cold and blue as a sword-blade. We drove 
into a little stage station just on the line of Mojave 



312 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Desert, known as "Coyote Holes." There were but 
two or three houses and but two or three people here. 
We were not to stop longer than to have our 
supper and to change our horses; we were then to 
drive into the night across the dreary wastes of the 
Mojave Desert. The desolation of the desert was 
intensified at every step, and the coming night had in 
it no pleasant anticipation. We were, indeed, a lonely 
traveler, without human association or companion- 
ship to wear away the lonely night. 

In the splendid sky of that latitude, finest in all the 
world, clear as crystal, sailed a great white moon, sole 
solace of the hour. Those who are familiar with the 
desert sky can verify its clearness, it being the fact 
that minor stars are magnified until they appear as 
large and brilliant as the stars of the first magnitude 
in more obscured atmospheres. The experiments made 
by Professor Langley of the Alleghany University 
in 1 88 1, the year before our trip, from the summit 
of Mt. Whitney, by his records now on file in 
the ofiice of the War Department at Washing- 
ton, are the world's verification of the fact that 
for astronomical observations the sky here excels 
all others in the world, and it is only within the 
last year that there has been established on the 
summit of Mt. Whitney, following the recommenda- 
tions of Professor Langley, an observatory under the 
auspices of the Lick Observatory, for the purpose 
of determining if possible whether or not Mars is a 
habitable planet. 

Under brilliant stars and the great moon, stretched 
around us into the dim distance volcanic hills, ris- 



INTO THE DESERT 313 

ing in tortured shapes, the contribution of earthquake 
and volcano to these wild regions and a silent waste 
of whitened sand left by the sea when in the ages 
past it receded from this portion of the world and 
left its floor. For forty miles through the heart of 
this sand waste we toiled, unable to move faster than 
a walk, for the deep sand was too heavy for any 
greater progress, and it was hard work for the horses 
even to haul the little stage with its one passenger over 
this tiresome road. Sleep was an impossibility. The 
new conditions were too impressive, the environment 
too fascinating, and we could not still our senses into 
the repose of sleep. The new presence beat upon the 
mind with a mighty force, for we were where the 
primal forces of the world had worked and left in 
monstrous shapes the debris of its early building. 

As the dawn brightened the sky, we escaped from 
the desert into a line of scorched hills lying between 
Pannamint Valley and Mojave Desert. This dawn 
was unlike those we had been familiar with all our life. 
There was no song of birds, no lowing of cattle, no 
nodding flowers, no association that makes in favored 
regions this the sweetest hour of the day. It was a 
silent, stern hour, and as we looked forth upon the 
awful hills and into the distance before us, and realized 
that we were yet upon the rim of the desert, we 
wondered what would be the next exhibition of the 
tremendous forces that built the world. As we drove 
into the day, we seemed to have lost our relation to 
the usual things of life, and we wondered where we 
would find sustenance for the day. As the sun lifted 
into the hisfher heavens over the Pannamint Moun- 



314 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

tains, in the distance along the slope of a range of dis- 
torted hills, we saw what seemed human habitations, 
rude, unpainted shacks. We could not at first realize 
that it was possible that human beings could establish 
a habitation in a place so desolate, so far removed from 
all things that make real living possible. We asked 
the driver what that group of things was and he said, 
"That is Darwin." We said, "What do you mean by- 
Darwin?" He smiled and said, "Why, that is the 
mining town Darwin, where we take our breakfast." 
Notwithstanding this statement of the driver, it seemed 
as yet impossible that it could be a town where 
human beings lived. Before long, however, we were 
in "Darwin," and found that it was a town where 
human beings did live — no, existed, for there could 
be no living in the higher sense in a place so devoid 
of everything that makes life even physically endur- 
able, outside of all moral considerations. And we 
found conditions existing here, which were a verifica- 
tion of our appreciation of the place. The principal 
business place of the town was a saloon. No hotel 
was visible and we were compelled to take our break- 
fast at a little restaurant maintained mostly by the 
prospector and the tributor, who found their occupa- 
tion in the adjacent hills and mountains. It was a 
rude dining-place, but the miner always demands, if 
not the most elegant dishes, the substantial ones, and 
we found an abundance of plain, well cooked food, a 
satisfaction for the hunger which had groAvn upon 
us during the long ride from the Coyote Holes. 

A substantial breakfast did much to relieve the 
tedium of the night's trip and acted a3 a restorative 



INTO THE DESERT 315 

to our spirits, and we felt in better mood for our 
further advance into what we supposed to be more 
desert. The road toward Lone Pine, the historic 
village of Inyo, situated at the foot of Mt. Whitney, 
just north of Owens Lake, was for most of the dis- 
tance smooth and gravelly, over which we were able 
to bowl with good speed. About us stood the ranges 
of hills, bare and drear, and in the intervening levels 
were grouped great stretches of cacti growing to the 
size of trees and in their regularity giving one the idea 
of riding through orchards. We found the atmos- 
phere peculiarly dry and magnetic. As we drove out 
of Darwin, a short distance, we saw a curious illus- 
tration of the preserving dryness of the atmosphere. 
Some wag" had stood the skeleton of a horse, that had 
died, upon its legs, tied it to a cactus and put before 
it a bunch of hay. The illusion was perfect, and the 
driver told us that this skeleton had been there for 
several years. 

Soon we caught a glimpse of the summits of the 
Sierras, where they lift along the rim of the Owens 
River Valley, to the general altitude of twelve thou- 
sand feet. There are many peaks visible from the 
individual peaks rising, as in Whitney, to fifteen thou- 
sand feet. There are many peaks visible from the 
Owens River Valley, that are more than twelve 
thousand feet, and but little less than fourteen thou- 
sand feet in height. These are superb creations and 
stir the mind with their majesty. One of the most 
wonderful and beautiful phenomena was made visible 
to us subsequently by this white line of summits stand- 
ing in the radiance of the sunlight while we in the 



3i6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

valley stood in the gloom of the morning before day- 
light. 

Our kindly driver had recognized, the day before 
and during the night, that we were quiet, and he asked 
us if we were ill. We told him not exactly ill, con- 
valescent only, and that the country was so strange 
to us that it made us quiet. He said, "Cheer up, we'll 
soon be out of this wilderness and you will see some- 
thing that is really beautiful," His prophecy was 
correct, for shortly we drove down through a line of 
hills and suddenly before us spread out Owens Lake, 
a sullen mountain sea, lying in its volcanic bed, twenty- 
five miles in length, with an average width of from 
four to five miles. Scientists have said that this lake 
occupies the site of the great volcano that in the 
creative ages blazed and thundered here, covering the 
country about with hundreds of square miles of 
scoriae, volcanic debris and ashes, leaving the scars 
of its flame upon the mountains lying eastward and 
southward, stretching into the dim distances of the 
Arizona deserts. It was a glorious sight, for the day 
was perfect and the sheen of the waters Vvas lil'e 
silver. It was beautiful to us in the distance, altho it is 
a desperate sheet of water, sustains no animal life 
except a slimy worm which exists in vast numbers and 
is the only evidence of life in its waters. The wild 
fowls avoid it, but sometimes are lured to its bosom 
only to death. We have seen, after a storm, piled 
along the shore in great wind-rows, just as the farmer 
piles his hay in summer, millions of dead birds. 

The waters of the lake are valuable for the caustic 
minerals that enter their composition, and capital has 



INTO THE DESERT 317 

availed itself of this condition. The lake is now 
rimmed with great lines of evaporating plants, where 
commercial soda and other products are prepared for 
market. This condition is the gift of the ancient 
volcano. 

Over and beyond this body of water there lifted into 
the blue of serene sky the shape of Whitney, glorify- 
ing the western horizon at fifteen thousand feet, and 
looming over the entire country like a protecting 
shape. Whitney, while long holding the fame of being 
the highest mountain in America, has lost its place by 
reason of the acquisition of Alaska, for Mount Fair- 
weather, Mount St. Elias and Mount McKinley lift 
higher crests. Whitney is not a distinct mountain, 
but rises a massive face of granite and opens out into 
the Owens River Valley through a magnificent canyon 
whose granite walls rise in shapes of beauty and 
majesty. The peak which gives Whitney its distinc- 
tion over the general range rises to only a distance 
of fifteen hundred feet or two thousand feet above 
the general range. It is an uplift of granite which 
faces the east. It was a magnificent vision to us that 
afternoon, as we put behind us the weariness of the 
desert and approached nearer and nearer to this splen- 
did range with its group of peaks. 

We saw also in* the distance the sheen of trees, and 
we never before knew how beautiful a tree could be. 
for we had been for the twenty-four hours previous 
entirely outside of the vision of green things. All 
had been bare and dead, and these groups of trees were 
visions inspiring and comforting. We were entirely 
ignorant of the condition of the country and of its 



3i8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

development, and did not know that along the western 
rim of the Owens River Valley there were many 
beautiful homes, to which the high Sierras contributed 
life by the perpetual streams which flowed from 
their eternal snows. There is an abundance of these 
clear sweet waters flowing into the desert, and they 
have been the means of redeeming from barrenness 
these habitations of men. 

A great contest is now on between the residents 
of Owens River Valley and the City of Los Angeles 
over these waters, for Los Angeles, fully one hundred 
and fifty miles away, has found it necessary to come 
here and to construct across the desert sands of Mo- 
jave and the desert ranges lying to the westward 
thereof, aqueducts for the purpose of carrying these 
cold, clear waters for the sustenance and protection 
of the city. 

As the sun was sinking over the mountains we 
drove into the little town of Lone Pine, a pioneer 
village of the region, built largely of adobe, — a half 
Mexican, half American town, important only because 
it was the fitting-out place for the mines which lay 
in the mountains to the east and south. Its situa- 
tion is beautiful, just north of the shore line of the 
lake, almost at the foot of Whitney, and at the rim 
of a level extent of valley reaching* out to the north, 
east and south. It was a welcome retreat and a feel- 
ing of exhilaration swept over the mind as we entered 
the main .street and drove up to the little hotel, where 
we were for many months to have a home. It was 
a comfortable place, owned and conducted by a kindly- 
hearted widow, who gave out of her heart to 



INTO THE DESERT 319 

the comfort of her guests. Here was peace, and the 
weirdness, the uncertainity and the shadow, which 
had been over us for twenty-four hours, fell from us 
like a cast-off garment. There was a presentiment 
in our mind that here we would have experiences, here 
grow riper, learn of the wonderful world in its physi- 
cal aspects, and find that in desperate places there are 
more wonders than there are in the serener places of 
the world, given over to birds and trees and blossoms. 

The population was mixed Mexican and American, 
all kindly but given to the habits of the frontier, and 
the saloon and gambling house, after nightfall, was 
the gathering place of the main portion of the popu- 
lation, outside of its women folks. 

Here we first saw the terrible evidences of the 
awful earthquake of 1872, which had its center here, 
and which radiated throughout the entire State, find- 
ing' a collateral center at San Leandro, Alameda 
County, where the courthouse was wrecked. The 
country is riven throughout its entire extent, and 
just north of Lxine Pine the whole Owens River 
Valley dropt away from the Alabama hills, an outlying 
range of low hills, which skirt the Sierras, for a dis- 
tance of twenty feet. A perpendicular wall of rock 
stands to-day at the side of the stage road, by which 
we traveled to the town of Independence, and twenty 
feet above could be seen the old stage road of 1872. 
There are other indications of the terrific force of this 
masterful quake at Lone Pine itself, where nearby 
tracts of what had been sterile sagebrush lands had 
become wet meadows, and in one place a living fence, 
which had at the time of the earthquake extended in 



320 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

a straight line, had been spHt apart and moved so 
that to fill in the intervening gap required forty feet 
of new fence. 

The little town seemed to be the center of the earth- 
quake. Almost the entire town was shaken down, 
and out of a population of about two hundred, twenty- 
seven were killed, and in the rude graveyard nearby 
is a long grave in which were buried the twenty-seven 
victims. In after days, as we drove into the outlying 
territory, we still found evidences of the earthquake 
in the canyons of the mountains, which were almost 
filled with rocks that had been shaken from nearby 
summits, and along the entire Inyo range of mountains 
which rise about four thousand feet above the 
valley and along which the track of the Carson and 
Colorado railroad extends, is a winrow of rocks, 
some as large as city buildings. Millions of tons of 
these lie in the valley alongside the railroad, as the 
mute evidence of the terrific power which held this 
country in its grip and shook it to pieces in these 
dreadful convulsions. For sixty days the country 
swung as in a swing, and some scientists, headed by 
Professor Whitney, at that time of the University of 
California, who went down there to study the phe- 
nomena, were startled by this swinging motion and 
did not stand upon the order of their leaving, but 
departed at once. 

The condition of that territory since has sustained 
the scientific assertion that a great earthquake is fol- 
lowed by years of calm. There has never been since 
1872 any disturbance. We were there for three years 
and the country was as quiet as a sleeping infant. 



INTO THE DESERT 321 

A curious phenomenon was attendant upon this 
earthquake, which goes far to sustain the electrical 
theory of earthquakes. At Cerro Gordo a number of 
miners were in one of the principal mines, down about 
five hundred feet. The earthquake occurred about 
two o'clock in the morning, while the night shift was 
at work. The men on this shift, on their return to 
the surface in the morning, were surprised to hear 
that the country had been shaken by a great 'earth- 
quake, for they all stated that they had felt no motion 
whatever at the place where they were in the mine, 
five hundred feet below the surface. Great crevasses 
were opened through the country in all directions, and 
oftentimes when we would leave a well-traveled trail, 
hoping to save distance by cutting across country, we 
were compelled to travel for miles before we found 
a place where the lips of these crevasses were close 
enough together to allow us to leap our horses across 
them. We were wise enough after some of these ex- 
periences to stick to well defined trails and roads. 

Another phenomenon which was peculiar to the 
earthquake was the fact that all animals seemed to 
know for hours in advance of its coming. We talked 
with a number of people, who were present at the 
time, and they said that about sundown they noticed 
a great commotion among the cattle and among the 
dogs and the chickens, the cattle running about in an 
excited manner and lowing, and the dogs howling, 
and the chickens refusing to go to their usual roosts 
and the cocks crowing constantly during the night. 
It has been frequently asserted that animals have a 
phenomenal instinct which enables them to presage 



322 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

the occurrence of great physical phenomena, and this 
fact was demonstrated at Lone Pine. 

We had gone to Inyo, as we said before, for the 
purpose of recuperating our health, and our objective 
point was Cerro Gordo, where a friend of ours was 
residing at the time, as the receiver of one of the 
mines at that point, then in litigation. Cerro Gordo, 
then an almost deserted village, having only about 
fifteen inhabitants, occupied a cup-like hollow at the 
top of the Inyo Mountains, about four miles above 
Owens Lake, and was reached by a tedious road from 
the levels of the valley. The situation of Cerro Gordo 
is such that the air, on account of the altitude and 
the great heat, becomes exceedingly rarified, and the 
road from the lake to the town, a distance of some 
eight miles, is about the most tedious road in America. 
It is one long, steady climb, and each mile of advance 
is into a more rarified atmosphere, until it seems almost 
impossible for man or beast to make further progress. 
The hardest real work that we have ever done was 
to make the ascent from the lake, along this mountain 
road, and we have in our life done some real manual 
labor. 

The morning after our arrival at Lone Pine we 
made our arrangements to proceed to Cerro Gordo, 
and went to the livery stable and asked for animals to 
carry us. The livery man said that we would need 
a mule, for it was a very difficult trip for a horse. 
He said, "When did you come to town?" I said. 
"On last night's stage from Caliente." He said, "Do 
you know the way to Cerro Gordo?" I said that I 
did not. but that I understood that once on the road, 



INTO THE DESERT 323 

it was almost impossible for one to lose it. He smiled 
and said, "Well, that is so, but do you know the 
dangers of the road?" I said, "No, 1 do not know 
of any danger." He said, "Well, for a tenderfoot, 
there are quite a number of dangers, and one of the 
principal is that you are liable to be tied up by despera- 
does who make their living ofif of just such as you." 
I said, "Oh, well, if that's the only danger, we'll 
assume that." So we got our mule, and in the early 
morning, alone, started ofif for a twenty-five mile desert 
and mountain ride. I had traveled many miles 
through the Sierras, through the Northern California 
regions, through Oregon and Washington territory, 
through Indian country, and along roads that had the 
reputation of being the territory of road agents, and 
as I had never had any experience with such, I 
assumed that my usual good luck would attend me, 
and so it did. Whether or not any road agent ever 
saw me, I am unable to say, but in the thousands of 
miles which I have traveled through doubtful territory. 
I have never feared evil, nor found it. 

North of Cerro Gordo lies a lone desert valley, 
rimmed with gorgeous mountains, painted with all 
the beauty and bloom of volcanic tints. Some of 
them we called the Zebra Mountains for in the distance 
they showed brilliant streaks of color, — red, white, 
blue and green, ranged like the peculiar stripes of 
the Zebra skin. This same coloring exists in the vol- 
canic mountains along the eastern rim of Death Val- 
ley. Standing upon the summit of the Telescope 
Mountains, on the western rim, a distance of twenty- 
five or thirty miles away, on a summer day, when the 



324 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

sun was beating down upon these mountains, the color- 
ing was so brilliant that the eye could rest upon them 
only for a brief moment. This exprest and brilliant 
coloring is one of the splendors of the desert every- 
where, and is noticeable to travelers on the Pullman 
cars through Arizona, New Mexico and portions of 
Colorado and Utah. It is a heat bloom. 

Eastward from Cerro Gordo, over the rim of the 
hills immediately skirting the town, we drove down 
into long stretches of cacti lands, which lie between 
the Cerro Gordo range and the range of mountains 
which form the western boundary of the Pannamint 
Valley, which lies westward of Death Valley, and 
would be a matter of remark for its desolation 
except that it is in the presence of the greater creation, 
Death Valley, which overshadows all of the desert 
creations in the world. 

The three years we passed in this country were 
crowded with interest, excitement and work. The 
Carson & Colorado Railroad Company was building 
into the Owens River Valley from Carson City, Ne- 
vada, and was interested in becoming familiar with 
the resources of the country, as the projectors thereof 
were unfamiliar with its commercial possibilities. It 
became our office, in association with these railroad 
men, to make ourselves familiar with all the country 
and to collect together such data as would be im- 
portant and educational to the world when it became 
a factor in the work here. We made our home at 
various points, but principally at Lone Pine, for we 
found that to be the most delightful place in the val- 
ley. Its people were kindly disposed, a large part 



INTO THE DESERT 325 

were Mexicans; they were peaceable with that kind- 
ness of association which marks the Mexican always, 
when you have his confidence. There were many 
things that brought us into close contact with this 
Mexican population, and we soon by a few kindly 
services became persona grata, and were able to obtain 
from them at any time all sorts of services, many of 
them important, as they were familiar with the country 
and with all its resources. 

The Mexican miner is the best miner in the world, 
and he seems by an instinctive faculty to know where 
the mineral is. We had an illustration of this in an 
old Mexican who lived at Cerro Gordo. He was 
nearly seventy years of age, had no ambitions except 
to keep himself in food and "medicina," the name 
he always gave to the storekeeper when he brought 
his little bottle down and desired to have it filled. He 
was, I think, the best mineralogist and worker of 
ores I ever knew. He would take his little sack, 
wander over the hills for perhaps a month and delve 
into the old dumps of the abandoned mines. By this 
search he would, in a month's time, fill up his gunny- 
sack with a hundred pounds of ore. This ore was 
rebellious, none of it of free character, and required 
the most careful and skilful reduction and refining. 
For this purpose he had built in one of the canyons 
nearby, out of adobe which he had made himself, a 
smelter and a refinery. The work accomplished by 
means of this little adobe smelter and refinery was as 
complete as could be found in the magnificent systems 
of Swansea, the world's chief mineral reduction plant, 
and to which must be sent at times the rebellious ores 



326 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

which defy the skill of the resident ore-workers. The 
old Mexican would build a little fire in his smelter, 
and when the heat was just right, cast in with the 
necessary fluxes, which he would gather from the 
hill slopes adjoining, his little handfuls of rebellious 
ore, and by and by, out of the smelter would run a 
little stream of minerals, in which were mixed lead, 
copper, silver and gold. The mass would be, perhaps, 
out of the hundred pounds he smelted, about half as 
large as an ordinary football. This mass of unsepa- 
rated ore he would subject to the processes of his 
little refinery, and by and by, for the process was 
slow, out of the refinery would flow the separated 
streams of gold, the silver, the lead, and thus from 
his hundred pounds of ore the old Mexican would 
usually secure from fifty to seventy-five dollars. This 
was enough to supply his simple wants for quite a 
while, and it was by this process of the highest scienti- 
fic character, that this old, uneducated, simple-minded 
Mexican brought to himself such as he called the 
necessities and comforts of life. 

Our personal touch with the Mexican population 
sometimes brought us into close relations in their 
political and patriotic work. Altho most of the men 
were citizens of the United States, and voters, they 
still were Mexicans, and on the i6th and 17th days 
of September celebrated the Mexican "Fourth of 
July;" the i6th of September being the equivalent 
day with them, their day of Freedom. At Lone Pine, 
which was the center of the Mexican population, on 
these days were always held their celebrations, to 
which all of the Mexicans contributed and from which 



INTO THE DESERT 327 

tHey all seemed to derive satisfaction and pleasure. 
The first day. that is, the i6th, was devoted to ora- 
tions and public services, among the latter being a 
musical program in the hands of the sigfioritas, who 
with guitar and national music made the hours sweet. 
We were usually the orator, in English, and some 
well-known Mexican the orator in Spanish. Some 
of the Mexicans of this place were not very familiar 
with the English tongue, and while they had been 
residents of California for a number of years, did 
not seem inclined to learn our language. We have 
at many places in the world, interpreted by noted 
artists, listened to what was called the finest of music, 
but we have never heard music as sweet as the songs 
of these sigfioritas. They loved the guitar, and it 
seemed to be a part of them as an expression of that 
which was within their hearts. The Spanish music 
for the guitar is tenderly beautiful. Their songs were 
all in a minor key, and the natural hymns of their 
native land, given expression by a dozen or more 
sigfioritas touching their guitars with loving fingers, 
were alluring and sweet. 

The second day was given over to the more strenu- 
ous amusements in the field, where feats of horseman- 
ship were the leading feature. The Mexican is a 
natural horseman, and an expert in all things con- 
nected with horsemanship. The riding of wild horses 
was a part of these amusements, and always created 
much excitement. The last night was devoted to the 
fandango, from which no one was excluded, and to 
which every one was welcome. All questions of 
caste, station, business, occupation, faith, were cast 



328 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

aside and forgotten. The lowliest and the highest 
mingled together in a place where there was absolute 
democracy of feeling. 

One who becomes acquainted with the domestic 
life of a Mexican village, if he came from a Puritan 
town of New England, is at first rudely shocked by 
the things which he sees and which he thought from 
preconceived ideas were incompatible with clean life, 
but in this idea he would be remarkably mistaken. 
The Mexicans have their own standards, — standards 
more nearly Christian than the Puritan's, and the 
noblest lady of the land does not think she will be 
soiled because she shakes the hand of her sister who 
differs in life from herself. When one becomes 
thoroughly familiar with the spirit of this living, and 
the underlying moral sense which allows an inter- 
mingling, without contamination, of the classes that 
the New England village separates, he is compelled 
to concede that life and morals are mixed problems, 
and no man by any local prejudices or standards ob- 
tained from any particular faith, is qualified to sit in 
judgment on his fellows. This is the lesson that came 
to us in the little Mexican village, which widened 
and sweetened our life by a larger faith, a finer appre- 
ciation of human character, and a liberality more 
nearly like that of the Master. 



Chapter XVIII 

DEATH VALLEY, ITS MYSTERIES AND ITS 
SECRETS 

T N 1849 there floated up out of the awful valley in 
the southeast corner of the State a weird story of 
despair and death, — the story of lost emigrants 
wandering- without hope under burning- skies, at last 
dying- in the flame of the desert. The story was in 
the main true, for a train of emigrants seeking Cali- 
fornia from one of the Western States, by way of the 
trail leading from Salt Lake to San Bernardino, both 
Mormon settlements, either by confusion or misdirec- 
tion, had lost their way, and after sufferings beyond 
the power of words to describe, dwindled down from 
a large company to less than a dozen survivors who 
by heroic endeavor at last escaped from the horrors 
into the Owens River Valley. 

The little company was known as the Brier party, 
under the leadership of a minister of the Congrega- 
tional Church, J. W. Brier, with whom we became 
acv']uainted in later years. By members of his family 
we verified the story as we had gathered it in the 
traditions of the country, when in 1883 we visited 
Death Valley and were shown the last camp of this 
fated emigrant party, where in one night eleven of the 

329 



330 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

poor victims laid them down to their eternal sleep. At 
the time of our visit there were scattered about many 
evidences of the occupation of this camp. Nearby i^^ 
a spring of poisoned waters. It was afterwards 
assumed that those who died in this awful last night 
had been poisoned by these waters. On Christmas 
Day, 1849, the dinner eaten by the survivors was a 
small portion of soup served to each, made from the 
hide of an ox which had died of starvation. This 
fact we had from one who partook of that Christmas 
"feast." To a heroic woman, sustained by an un- 
faltering faith in God, was due the final escape. The 
awful conditions had no power to touch her spirit or 
dim the clear vision she had of the eternal mercies. 
Her faith was as steady as the foundations of the 
flaming hills that stood about her. and she knew that 
she and hers were to be saved. The world's history 
of faith presents no more illustrious example than 
that of this woman, who, frail and worn, defied the 
burning sun, the blazing sands, the awful mountains 
and poisoned waters, to rob her of her beloved. Her 
faith was justified, and she and hers escaped by her 
efforts. We, to whom such experiences have never 
come, are not competent to even guess at the influ- 
ences that finally directed her. On the morning of 
this Christmas, she said to her companions that she 
knew a way and would lead them out. She mounted 
the only remaining ox, an emaciated skeleton, and 
taking her youngest child before her directed all to 
follow. Straight as a crow flies, she led them across 
the rocky waste, climbed the western rim of the 
valley, and through a low pass known to this day 



DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 331 

by the Indians as "Ox Pass/' the Httle company were 
soon gladdened by the sheen of the Sierras and the 
green of the trees and meadows that clustered at their 
base. 

We went through Ox Pass, directed to it as the 
easiest trail from the valley by Indians who knew the 
country. They were not able to speak our language 
and by signs only indicated the situation, and said 
in pointing to the low gap in the mountain "Ox Pass." 
Who named this place? Tell me, ye. who scofif at 
divine guidance and sneer at the faith of man in God's 
personality! Does it stand and will it stand forever 
as a memorial of the devout soul of this woman who 
heard in this despairful place "unutterable words that 
it is not lawful for man to utter," and saw "the light 
that never was on sea or land." 

Out of this story was woven the reputation that 
clung to this valley for years. It was ever afterwards 
and is now known as ''Death Valley" and men said 
it was curst land, a place of doom ; that its airs were 
fatal to animal life, that no man ever crossed its 
spaces and lived, and that birds dropped dead while 
passing over it ; that poisons as deadly as those which 
exude from the famed Upas trees, were blown from 
the mountains about Death Valley and poisoned the 
winds. This statement was written into early geog- 
raphies, and for years it remained an avoided region, 
where silence and desolation held dominion, and 
storm and waterspouts made it their playground. 
While this early reputation has been changed some- 
what by man's invasion and occupation, it is still and 
will forever remain a place of horn^r and of peril. 



332 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

During the summer of 1883, with a pack mule 
train and two seasoned dwellers of the desert, we 
spent several weeks in the midst of the valley, and in 
the regions thereabout, and at the last moment it was 
as sullen, mysterious and awful as it was the first 
moment when from the summit of the Telescope 
Range we looked down into its caverns. It is "the 
valley of the shadow of death," and unless the world 
shall incline anew upon its axis, so as to give to it a 
new altitude and climate, it will remain a desolate, 
perilous region of despair. During our trip the heat 
ranged from 100 degrees at midnight to 125 degrees 
in the shade, during all hours of the day. Men travel 
here before dawn and after sunset, for the burning 
rays of the sun scorch like a furnace flame. Over 
the summit of the Funeral Mountains, that rise along 
its eastern rim, the sun leaps into the sky in the early 
morning like a ball of fire, and shoots its tongues of 
flame into the quivering air, and he is wise who before 
this hour has sought the protecting shade of the 
mesquite grove or "the shadow of a great rock in a 
weary land." Its sky is the home of vultures, foul 
lovers of putrid things, always visible in groups cir- 
cling through the blue and blotting the sky as an ulcer 
blots the beauty of a human face. They keep a 
terrible vigil over the range of the entire valley, and 
no moving thing ever escapes their unerring eye. They 
know the chances of life and death to all, man and 
beast alike, who brave these desperate regions, and 
as soon as they discover the presence of a living thing 
moving, they follow it day by day until it either yields 
to them a dead body or escapes be}ond them. 



DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 333 

An intrepid explorer, W. L. Hunter, recently de- 
ceased, who lived at Lone Pine while we were there, 
a brave, true, intelligent, resourceful man, told us that 
he seemed always obsessed by Death Valley, that it 
fascinated him, and that he could not resist the desire 
at times to brave its terrors and explore its mysteries. 
More than once he had almost a marvelous escape 
from death. He told us of one time when he drank 
from a poisoned spring whose deadly waters acted 
with sudden energy, leaving him barely sufficient 
strength and consciousness to reach and mount his 
faithful mule. Once in the saddle, his will failed, 
he lost consciousness, and never could recall the 
twenty miles across which his mule carried him, to his 
home and safety. He told me that he could never 
shake off the indescribable sense of danger that pos- 
sest him as soon as he entered the valley, and that 
the prowling vultures that followed him everywhere 
seemed to have their beaks in his heart. He was a 
man of matchless courage, of great purity of thought 
and life, but these qualities were not enough to buoy 
his spirit against the awful influences of that deadly 
place. 

Death is unwelcome to all, except to those who 
have drunk the gall of life and eaten the bitter 
fruits that grow on the shores of dead seas, but to 
any one the thought of death in this charnel house 
of the world is horrible. No wonder that men al- 
ways become insane before they die here. The brain 
of a Caesar could not withstand the strain to him, 
who, alone and lost, loses his relation to land and sky, 
whose veins are filled with fire, whose bloodshot eyes 



334 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

have ceased to be avenues of the mind, who does not 
know whether he is man or beast. All that remains 
is the animal instinct for life and the capacity to suffer 
the tortures of the damned. Delusion and fantasy 
run riot through every cell of his brain, not the allur- 
ing dreams of beauty and quietness that often solace 
the dying and bring a smile to whitening lips, but 
visions of unutterable horror, to escape from which 
he strips from his body every vestige of clothing and 
runs and runs in an endless circle until, a shape of 
terror, he falls, to die alone in a land as desolate as 
the slopes of hell. Skeletons of such are often found, 
and invariably they are naked, and there are always 
evidences of the circular run. We now recall looking 
down into a little level sand waste from the top of a 
nearby hill, where one of these had met his death. 
It is called to this day Walker's racecourse, because 
the victim had on the sandy floor beaten out with his 
bare feet a track around which he raced as long as 
he had strength. This track was as perfectly round 
as if it had been laid out by a surveyor. 

No man can know what thirst is, who has never 
been in this desert. It is thirst that kills. Hunger 
only slowly weakens and one may survive for days, 
but thirst grips at the throat, and with a hand of 
hot steel beyond resistance. It has no intermediate 
paroxysms, first pain and then solace, for it grows with 
the moments and feeds like a fire that burns without 
stay. Even with abundant water, one is always 
thirsty. We remember that on our trip we drank dur- 
ing the daytime a gallon canteen of water during 
every hour, and we were still unsatisfied. Three of 



DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 335 

us consumed during the average day forty gallons. 
Water leaks from the pores as from a sieve and runs 
into the body as waters into the sand. 

The marvelous diversity of California scenery is 
illustrated by the Yosemite and Death Valley. The 
Yosemite needs no description, for the world, by pen 
and camera, has been made familiar with its features. 
Here is abundant life exhibited in valley and summit, 
where trees and flowers wave in the breeze and the 
voices of waters break the silences. Death Valley is 
a burned and twisted spectacle of disaster, so hideous 
that it obsesses and fascinates. Looking down into 
the deep caverns stretching for a hundred miles from 
north to south, between its eastern and western walls 
of volcanic mountains, one is compelled to shut the 
eyes that he may bear the blaze from its floor of salt 
and soda, left by the receding sea when some con- 
vulsion ripped the country to pieces and vomited out 
the waters that once lapped the feet of the surrounding 
hills. The uplift of the valley floor was not complete 
in this convulsion, for at Bennett's Wells, in the 
center, it still lies two hundred and eighty feet below 
the level of the Pacific. It is probable that the awful 
forces, that so changed the levels and drove the waters 
from their ancient bed, burned and scorched and 
melted the mountain ranges into their present distorted 
shapes and painted them with the colors of flame. As 
the eye takes in the features of this awful landscape, 
intensified by the telescopic clearness of a rainless 
sky, the mind staggers and halts in its efforts to 
master the vision, the senses are submerged by the 
inflow of suggestions, and imagination faints in its 



336 LIFE OX THE PACIFIC COAST 

efforts to fix the picture as a permanent possession 
of the mind. It is all too mighty, too stupendous, 
for everywhere are piled in the confusion of great 
masses the evidences of earthquake and cataclysm, 
the uplift and downfall of primeval days when in the 
furnaces of God were being cast the ribs of the hills, 
fires were transforming equeous into igneous rocks, 
and mighty agencies were hammering into form moun- 
tain ranges, carving out beds for the sea, and as 
servants of the Creator "doing whatsoever He com- 
mandeth them upon the face of the earth." 

About this awful chasm, all is not terrible. The sky 
in lofty arches lifts as a cloudless dome of blue, except 
when in the summer afternoons it is piled deep with 
continents of clouds: the splendor of these fleecy sky-_ 
lands is beyond description, and, as the evening sun 
• floods them with light, they glow into a gorgeous 
pageant of the sky, from which floats a color stream 
into gorge and canyon, illuminating their gloom with 
the radiance of orange and purple, mellowing the at- 
mosphere with the sheen and shimmer of transforming 
hues. In this hour of splendor, scarred cliffs, rugged 
summits, mesa slopes and valley floor burn and glow 
with supernal beauty. They are festivals of beauty, 
and a blind man who could not see must feel that 
he is in the presence of matchless phenomena of 
the world. \Yq have stood in the midst of this radi- 
ance and felt more than once the thrill that ran through 
the spirit and uplifted the senses in wordless delight, 
as the fascination of the hour descended upon us as 
the dew descends upon the face of the rose. 

The heated airs often play fantastic tricks along the 



DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 337 

horizons, and from airy nothings build cities or spread 
out cool seas. The illusions of the mirage are com- 
plete, and it is difficult to realize that these visions 
are but unsubstantial vapors as unreal as the fabric 
of a dream. The southernmost end of Death Valley, 
where it opens into the desert regions of Arizona, is 
the playground of the mirage, for here, to one who 
looks southward from the central parts of the valley, 
these mirage effects are daily sights. In these cities 
of the sky, temples and palaces stand as if their domes 
and towers were of iron and stone, long drawn aisles 
of stately edifices fill up the horizons and the magnify- 
ing airs give to them extent and majesty. These 
illusive cities vary with the rarification of the air. 
They constitute one of the marvels of the desert and 
add to the mysteries that make it in many respects a 
land of enchantment. 

We recall an incident connected with the mirage that 
was grotesque and amusing, and illustrative of its 
magnifying effect. A flock of crows became a band 
of Indians, and as they hopped about in crow fashion, 
appeared to be hostile and defiant. Two prospectors, 
alone in the wilderness of a rocky, uninhabitated mesa, 
were alarmed by these threatening demonstrations and 
hastily prepared for flight, and would have hastened 
from their camp only that the mirage dissolved before 
they had packed their burros, and the band of harm- 
less crows resolved back from hostile Indians to inno- 
cent birds. 

Water-views of great extent and beauty are often 
spread out between the mountains, their sheen rival- 
ing the serenity of the sky, and weary explorers, pant- 



338 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ing for cool places as a relief from the endless heat, 
are often lured towards the shores of these phantom 
waters. 

The supreme glor}^, however, is the great sky at 
night when darkness draws her veil across the face of 
desolation, and the mountains, a terror by day, lift 
into the solemn silence serene and stately monuments, 
the massive walls of this temple of the night. Over 
all the sky lifts in a curve of splendor, glorious with 
its countless stars, shining here with a brilliance un- 
seen in fairer places. Constellations march in proces- 
sions along their highways ; the tangle of the Pleiades 
nestles in far-off spaces, and Orion seems close enough 
to disclose his belt of light. In the far north, the 
steady flame of the Ursa Major throbs like a human 
pulse. The glory of the night lays upon the beholder 
the spell of silent wonder, and he seems to hear out 
of the lofty arch the voice of David, who, in the far- 
off Judean deserts, lifted his voice towards just such 
a sky, and from an adoring mind, cried aloud. "When 
I consider Thy heavens, the work of thy hand, the 
moon and stars which thou hast ordained, what is 
man that thou art mindful of him and the son of 
man that thou visitest him?" 

There are found among the hot rocks, curious speci- 
mens of animal life that are forcible illustrations of 
the effect of environment upon the development of 
species. As a boy, one of our sports was to pick out 
of the mud in creek bottoms the little mud turtle, a 
perfect Liliputian, differing only from the deep-sea 
monster in size. These little animals are at home only 
in the water, and love to hide in the cool slime of 



DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 339 

streams. They sun themselves on a log or rock during 
part of the day, but to water they take as naturally 
as the bird to the sky. Thousands of these are found 
in Death Valley, where, except from cloudburst or 
storm, water seldom falls. They live in the clefts of 
the burning rocks, so hot that one can not lay his hand 
upon them. They are perfectly acclimated to a dry 
and rainless land, and are at home now in the desert. 
Their ancestors were dwellers in the water here when 
the sea filled the valley, and were left high and dry 
when it went out. They were left to fight out the 
problem of their survival under new conditions. Ages 
have been at work in transforming them until they 
are desert dwellers, able to live without water and 
seemingly without food, for but little exists in these 
wastes to sustain any animal life. They must of 
necessity, like the rattlesnake, also found here in great 
numbers, be able to live upon the air. 

We sometimes ran across a foul and nasty specimen 
of life known as the chuckwalla. He is a miniature 
crocodile, abhorrent and slimy, polluting the place 
where he lives with a sickening stench. He was once 
a water animal but has been changed to a dry land 
reptile. It may be that his ancestor was of greater 
size, and once here wallowed in the muddy shores of 
ancient streams. If so, his nature has changed with 
his size, for with all his unbearable nastiness he 
is kindly and benevolent, and is as harmless as the 
gentle little horned toad that homes in the desert under 
the shadow of the sagebrush and the cacti. 

Sometimes, but rarely, we startled a vicious Gila 
monster from his lair, — a desperate reptile, full of 



340 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

hate of man, ready always for fight, and whose bite 
is said to be invariably fatal, and whose breath even 
carries in it death. He has also the crocodile form, 
but instead of scales his body has a smooth surface 
upon which is spread a varied coloring, rivaling the 
rainbow, and scintillating in its sheen. This rich and 
gaudy skin fails, however, to make him an object of 
interest, and his reputation for hostility and venom 
makes him an object to be avoided. Fortunately, he is 
rare, and it is not often that one passing through 
the region meets with him. If the ancestor was also 
a crocodile, he belonged to a species having nothing in 
common with the ancestor of the chuckwalla, for, 
except in shape, they are utterly unlike. 

The sterile character of the entire region affords no 
sustenance for wild animals, and there are none to be 
found here except now and then a gaunt and ever 
hungry coyote, who sneaks across your trail a starved 
specter and lives on his hope of provender, rather than 
on its reality. He is a cowardly creature, an object 
of contempt, and invites the bullet one instinctively 
sends after him, when he is near enough to be reached. 
He usually travels alone, more than likely because he 
is unwilling to share with a fellow the stray morsel 
he may find in his precarious hunting grounds. He 
is a fit associate of the vulture that hovers in the sky 
above him, as they both are waiting for some dead 
thing upon which to gorge. Over a carcass, fierce 
battles are often waged between vulture and coyote. 

Atmospheric pressure presents one of the series of 
phenomena giving to the valley its distinctive char- 
acter. One day, on approaching a borax camp at 



DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 541 

Bennett's Wells, about noontime, we asked the man 
in charge if we might have something to eat. Of 
course, he gave us the usual hearty, cheerful consent 
always given on the desert. It was dreadfully hot, 
and tying our animals in the shade of a clump of 
mesquite trees, we found shelter from the sun in the 
little adobe shack in which the man lived. We 
sweltered in the close air, and the kindly camper fre- 
quently dashed on the sides of the room buckets of 
water drawn from the nearby water-hole. This af- 
forded but temporary relief, for almost in the throw- 
ing the water was licked up and evaporated. We 
noticed that the camper was preparing a pot of beans, 
and, knowing that in the higher altitudes to cook 
beans required patient hours, we asked him if he in- 
tended these for our dinner. He replied "y^s," and 
we said that we could not stay with him long enough. 
He smiled and replied, "You will not have to wait 
more than half an hour at the longest." And so it 
was, for within that time he set before us a pot of 
soft, well-cooked beans from which we made our 
hearty meal. On Mt. Whitney, not over eighty miles 
away, a pot of such beans could not have cooked in a 
hundred years, for the longer they were boiled, the 
harder they would have become. This is all due to 
atmospheric pressure, and the difference between such 
pressure at two hundred and eighty feet below and 
fifteen thousand feet above sea-level. We are not 
able to say what constant living in so heavy an atmos- 
phere would mean to human life. The terrible heat, 
of course, rarifies it, and relieves it somewhat from 
the pressure it would have in the normal temperature. 



342 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

but from our own experience and the related experi- 
ence of others, who had more opportunity for observa- 
tion than we, we were led to believe that to dwell 
below the sea-level would shorten a man's days and 
make him a prey to fatal disorders. 

Not long after we had dined with this kind camper, 
we heard that he had ended his days by his own hand. 
Was he slain practically by his environment? Did 
the constant touch of desert things unhinge his mind, 
making it incapable of sustaining its relation to ambi- 
tion and hope? Did despair tear down the fibers of 
the brain and leave his mind in ruins? We can but 
speculate, but from what we know of this land of 
terror and mystery, we would shrink from a verifica- 
tion by personal experience of the truth or falsity of 
this possible result, for even animals kept here too 
long have gone insane, unable to resist the terrible 
influences of the place. We have reason to believe 
that a continued living in what we may, for want of 
a better term, call "the presence of the desert," will 
permanently interfere with the normal status of a 
human being. The place was not made for habita- 
tion, and yet now and then are found men who for 
years, by some weird fascination, perhaps more nearly 
obsession, have lived in loneliness not in the midst of, 
but on the borders and in sight of, this abomination 
of desolation. 

One night while our camp was pitched upon the 
slope of the hills which shut in the valley, on the 
northern part, below us was stretched, pale in the 
moonlight, the long reaches of the fields of borax and 
salt. It was a weird, ghostly landscape, and now and 



DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 343 

then shifting shadows seemed to play across the dead 
face of the levels. These shadows were not the sport 
of moonbeams, suggestive of the imagery of child- 
hood, but were massive structures of intermingled 
light and darkness, great shapes that seemed to be 
the ghosts of the desert let loose to walk the hours 
of the night, free to work their will upon the terrible 
things about them. 

The desert, in whatever land, under whatever sky 
stretched out, is an empire of silence, a vacuum in 
which Nature seems to hold her breath as if some 
stupendous event was in its birth and the pulse of 
the world was still in anticipation. Its silence is an 
impressive force, for force it is, tho it has neither 
weight nor motion. It is a soundless atmosphere, 
inert and lifeless. There is a spell in the soundless 
air that takes hold of the mind and dallies with the 
senses until they are quite uncertain as to what is 
absolute and what relative. Nature always preserves 
the "eternal fitness of things," and one soon comes 
to know that a noisy desert would be an incongruous 
creation. Silence is its mood, its spirit, and fits the 
desert wastes perfectly, as a robe does the body. 

Some things can be felt only; words fail to describe 
them. One might as well hope to see a great painting 
or to be captivated by the melody of a song by a 
mere narrative, as to realize what the silence of the 
desert really is from descriptive words. And even 
in the desert, voiceless as the days are, one must lie 
down under the sky at night and hearken in vain to 
the song of a cricket, the rustle of a leaf, the far-off 
thrill of some bird of the night, before upon him falls 



344 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

the full consciousness that he is in a land whose lips 
are dumb, and whose life is speechless. Such nights 
we knew and we felt in our efforts to hear some sound 
as tho our ears were sore and strained, and, as the 
endless strain kept on, we wondered if the fault were 
not ours, and that we had lost the capacity to hear. 
Of this fear we were relieved often by what seemed 
to be the steady beat of a base drum, and as the sound 
waxed louder, we wondered more and more if we 
were not the victims of some delusion ; but it was 
not so, for what we heard was at last found to be the 
steady beat of our own hearts. This statement will, 
more nearly than any other illustration, make under- 
stood how deep the silence of the desert is. In this 
one thing the desert has a lone rival — the grave. 
There is a spirituality and uplifting strength in this 
spirit of lonely places, and many a lofty soul has in 
all ages been ripened in these vast halls of silence. 

The wonder of our youth was why prophets were 
always associated with deserts, why in the loneliness 
of silent wastes they ripened in spirituality. This 
wonder would have remained, had we not become 
familiar with the desert by days spent in their dread 
places, and by lonely watches through their noiseless 
nights. We felt its mysterious presence and became 
familiar with that indefinable spirit which at all times 
broods over it. These lessons were lessons of the 
spirit beyond the touch of mere physical forces. Men 
may walk among the stars, search out the secrets of 
the ages when the mountains were uplifted and the 
seas were spread out between the continents, trace 
with accurate surety the evolution of species and be- 



DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 345 

come the masters of physical forces, but this power 
ceases when they reach the shore-Hne of the spirit. 
We may dream and hope, but Hke the lights of the 
sky in early morning, the mood of the spirit can not 
be caught or interpreted by philosophy or science. 
One soul can not interpret to the other the verities of 
the eternal. There is one place in the universe where 
the soul is alone, and that is with itself. 

We know now, after our wanderings in the desert, 
why the prophets were driven into them for their 
education. The waste, the endless silences, vast 
vacuums, into which we speak with no return, drive 
us inward : the inductive faculties are quickened and 
we stand face to face with ourselves. 

There are times when these still places are terrible 
with the rush of mad winds, the dash of turbulent 
water-spouts and crash of deafening thunders, and 
the stab and flash of lightning, when the desert seems 
at war with its limitations of climate and altitude, 
that handed it over to desolation, and keeps it in 
bounds that it can not break, ever a dreary, silent, 
lonely land. 

We learned to love the desert and the chief pleasure 
of a continental trip now, and ever since, has been 
the opportunity we have, from a Pullman window, 
to look again upon its scarred but fascinating face. 

One night, from out the deeps of the desert, we 
heard the song of a bird. Within sight, the 
summit of Whitney lifted into the starry deeps 
of the midnight its fifteen thousand feet of 
rock and snow, emphasizing the desolation of the 
smitten lands. We could not sleep, for the spirit 



346 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

of the desert was upon us — that sense of mystery 
ever a part of it, personified by the hand which carved 
the face of the Sphinx forever looking out over the 
Sahara across a waste of sand. Across the cloudless 
heavens the constellations marched in mighty proces- 
sions, brilliant with that flame which comes to them 
only in that rainless land. Suddenly, as the world 
swung upon the axis of midnight, an hour always 
marked in the desert, by strange movements in earth 
and air, akin to the movement of one who turns in 
a restless sleep, into the sky rose a song pure and 
sweet, enriching the silence with melody. A solitary 
meadow lark, by some mysterious instinct, had found 
here her nest, and moved by some occult influence 
poured into the sky her joy in an exultant song. There 
was something spiritual in the song of this happy- 
throated bird, and our spirit responded to it. Never be- 
fore had we so felt the divinity of all things. Our life 
was enriched by the song of that bird. Moral excel- 
lence seemed to be emphasized by it, and often since, 
when cast down, we have turned to that midnight song 
to be inspired anew. 

We have described this little bird and her song in 
the night many times, and a friend of ours recently 
passing through the desert, wrote: 

"I thought of the song of the bird in the night, and 
I understood the beauty as never before." 



Chapter XIX 

A SUMMER JAUNT IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

rri HE Sierras, before they lose themselves in the Mo- 
-■• jave Desert, rise to an average elevation of twelve 
thousand feet, from which at various points lift peaks 
several thousands of feet higher, — Lyall, Williamson 
and Whitney in the latitude of Mono and Inyo Coun- 
ties are chief of these, and were they not part of the 
general range, as a mass, where it towers over the 
lands at their base, would command attention from 
the lovers of mountains, who find exhilaration in the 
lofty upheaval of cliff and summit. The eastern and 
western slopes of the Sierras, in the latitude of 
Nevada County, where the Central Pacific Railroad 
crosses them, stretch out for miles, and unless one is 
told, he would never know just when the summit is 
reached, except- he noticed carefully the flow of the 
streams or the increased speed of the cars on the 
downward grade. Those who have crossed on the 
railroad at this point will remember the long climb 
begun at Rocklin in Placer County, on the western 
slope, and the equally long descent on the eastern 
slope, ending just before reaching Reno in Nevada. 
This distance is piled with a grc'^t breadth of high- 
lands tangled into mountain shapes jf majesty, and 

347 



348 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

relieved by woods and streams, — wild, rugged places 
of beauty, white with snows in winter and abloom 
with flowers in the springtime and summer. To the 
traveler, weary with the almost endless miles of dreary 
desert, this is a fairyland, and with increasing 
delight he looks over the tops of nearby summit lines 
on to loftier and higher hills that climb and tower 
until in the far-off horizon, in the mellow lights of 
perfect skies, they bound the landscapes with "delect- 
able mountains." These are the swiftly dissolving 
views of the high Sierras from a Pullman window 
and nothing but the general effect is visible as the 
cars rush down the swift slopes, plunging through 
snowsheds and diving through tunnels, and sweeping 
around the acute curves of the high per cent, grades. 
To the quality of the imagination must be left the 
things that lie nestled in the heart of this great empire 
of wonder and beauty — slopes of forest; cool and 
fragrant beds of blossoms; lakes whose limpid waters 
rival the color of the mirrored sky; streams that 
laugh and leap and sing in the abandon of the glori- 
ous wilderness they make sweet and beautiful. These 
are visible only to him who leaves the railroad and 
with patience and direction seeks out the coverts in 
which they hide. 

As the great mass dives southward towards the 
Mojave Desert, where it halts as if hesitant to invade 
the Kingdom of Silence and Desolation, it puts on 
new shapes, — beauty is exchanged for majesty, and 
as from some commanding summit the eye takes in 
so far as it can the bulk first and then the details, 
the head swims with the survey of the tremendous 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 349 

shapes that crowd the field of vision, reaching on and 
on into the distance, summit after summit, range after 
range, peak hfting over peak, until the whole world 
seems to be built of mountains, great sublime piles 
of rock rising out of the foundations of the world. 
These massive piles are not bare of adornment, for 
to the lines where the eternal snows defy the sun, 
woods crowd the slopes with a mantle of variegated 
green, whose leaves shine in the sunlight and under 
whose shade ferns and flowers make beautiful the 
nooks where they find life during the sunny hours of 
the summer. From out the higher slopes melting 
snows send down pure waters that leap from fall to 
fall, or spread out into pools, whose cool deeps 
are the home of the trout. If it were not so grand 
and majestic, it would be called a land of enchant- 
ment, but it is too big for such phrases and only words 
that are fit to express great things, of power, strength 
and majesty, are to be used in describing them. 

We know this land of wonder for in the late sum- 
mer of 1883, after our return from Death Valley and 
the sere, dead desolate things that make up its sceneries, 
we sought relief from the strain by two weeks of life 
here, wandering at will, climbing peaks, descending 
into valley levels, casting our lines into its lakes and 
streams, and generally abandoning ourselves to the 
alluring idleness that seems to possess one when he 
enters into the quiet and fragrance of the soaring alti- 
tudes that lie just under the sky. 

West of the summit of the Sierras, just over the 
high line where they rise for more than twelve thou- 
sand feet above the sea, and more than eight thou- 



350 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

sand feet above the Qwens River Valley, from the 
base of Mount Whitney to the head waters of Kings 
River, for a distance of more than forty miles, flovirs 
Bubb's Creek, foaming along over its rocky bed, leap- 
ing its falls and cataracts, resting at times in serene 
stretches of quiet waters. The name is not musical, 
and the intrepid tourist, who now and then is lured 
by the fame of the region and climbs into it, wonders 
how the stream flowing through so wonderful a region 
and having its birth in the snows of one of America's 
noblest mountains, and at last bearing its waters into 
another stream historic, for Bierdstadt, the great 
scenic painter of America, and Muir, the renowned 
lover of the Sierras, have made it immortal by brush 
and pen, should have so ordinary a name. We know 
why, for years ago in San Francisco, we became ac- 
quainted with old man Bubb, for whom the stream 
was named. We met him when he had come to the 
city to spend the winter, as he usually did when the 
deep snows and extreme perils from storms in those 
high altitudes made life impossible in the winter 
months. His Christian name we have forgotten, for 
he was known always as "old man Bubb." We first 
saw him in 1871, but years before he had made his 
summer home in this wild region, living alone for 
months, seeing no human being, and having for com- 
panionship only the wild animals that in freedom 
roamed through the forest at will, without fear of 
man. He built in a magnificent environment of crag 
and cliff, sheltered in the heart of a noble group of 
pines, a log cabin, to which during the early summer, 
for many years, and until his death, he returned. He 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 351 

was a quaint soul, a rugged, silent man, but genial 
and kindly. He had a fine mind, but except to his 
friends, of whom he had only few, as such men usually 
have, he was slow of speech. There was one thing, 
however, which he was always ready to discuss, and 
of which he never seemed to be tired, and that was the 
glories of the mountains and the grandeur of what he 
always called his home. 

We were fascinated by his glowing descriptions, 
and while he gave us a longing to see the splendid 
things of which he spoke with such eloquence of lov- 
ing words, we did not then hope to see them, for it 
seemed as though they were as far off as if in another 
world. When he died we do not know, but we re- 
member that one winter he failed to appear in his 
usual city haunts, and we never heard of him again. 

During this trip, of which we now write, we sought 
his old cabin, falling in ruins, battered and beaten 
down by the awful storms that rage here during the 
tempestuous winters. The weight of snows had 
broken in its roof, and the rot of the years was eat- 
ing up its wall of logs. His memorial is the great 
creek that flows through this land of wonder, and 
no monarch of the world has a monument to perpetu- 
ate his memory as splendid as this lone recluse of 
the wilderness, whose passion for the solitudes led 
him from the noisy life of cities to solace his spirit 
with the communion he had with nature in this ante- 
chamber of the Almighty. If some desperate heart- 
ache drove him into these solitary wilds, he made no 
sign. No man knew whether by accident or design he 
first alone made his way into the pathless woods and 



352 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

set his habitation within their shades. We often 
wondered, as we looked into his eyes, in which always 
lurked the pathos of a heart that knew the gnaw of a 
"lifelong hunger at the heart," and when he did not 
know he was being observed, we saw the curves that 
cut into the brow and cheek lines of the face 
of "a Man of Sorrows and acquainted with grief." 
Whether sometime, somewhere, some woman's hand 
had torn the fibers of his heart, perhaps unconsciously 
mutilating his life and making havoc with his years, — 
who knows ? Such things have been ; such things 
will be. 

At Independence, the County seat of Inyo, we 
sought an outfit of mules and g^jide. There is only 
one approach to the creek from the eastern side of 
the Sierras in this altitude, and one wishing to make 
the trip must be sure of the guidance of one who 
knows surely this one avenue, the last leg of which 
is a short canyon that leads from the table-lands down 
to the creek. For much of the way from Independence 
a rough, faint trail guides one, but before the last 
shoulder of the mountains is reached, this trail is 
often obliterated by the shale and rock that the winter 
avalanches carry across it. 

After some inquiry we found a woman guide who 
owned a train of pack mules, who with her late hus- 
band had made frequent trips into the Bubb's creek 
country. She was a hardy mountaineer, fond of the 
excitement of mountain life, and was as glad as we 
were for an opportunity to make the trip, and she 
gladly placed ten pack mules and herself as guide at 
our disposal without cost. We needed men, and soon 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 353 

found a couple of hardy tributors, who were more 
than willing, also without cost, to give their services 
and time for an opportunity to fish in the lakes and 
streams with which the region abounds. 

One bright August morning found us ready, with 
five mules packed with provisions, bedding and sup- 
plies, and five more ready for the mount, and with 
a shout and a handwave to the well-wishing crowd, 
we were ofif. We sang and shouted in the abandon 
of the hour, with hearts beating strong, pulses thril- 
ling in rhythm, and nerves that made living a delight, 
-With us were several gentlemen and ladies who were 
to go to the first camp, and after a couple of days 
and nights would return, leaving us to climb higher 
and beyond into the heart of the mountains. 

Our trail led up a sloping mesa until it entered a 
long, wide canyon that opened out into the valley. A 
wild stream dashed down over boulders piled in its 
bed and gave motion to the scene. It was an exquisite 
hour and beautiful place, and to a perfect physical 
harmony was added the exultation of the spirit. 
From off the high summits, not far distant, there blew 
across our faces the morning airs, sweet with the 
breath of pines and the aroma of mountain blossoms. 
The ascending sun filled the depths of canyons and 
gorge with radiance and painted the snowy peaks 
with gold. There were happy birds that homed 
here, and, as if they were as happy as we, filled the 
sky with song. Such glorious hours are not possible 
to those who cling to cities and find their joys in the 
corridors of hotels and foyers of theaters and the light 
and folly of the night. They come only to the up- 



354 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

lifted soul capable of interpreting the mysteries of the 
heart in the face of a flower as wonderful as the sweep 
of a comet through the arches of the universe. To 
these exalted souls the speech of the woods, the voice 
of the stream, the utterances of the myriad voices of 
minor insects and the song of birds are the voices of 
the everlasting power and beauty of creation. Our 
hearts ache at times as we stand on the city streets, 
and there pass back and forth before us the endless 
throng of the blind and the dumb. 

Just below the apex of the range, we came in the 
mid-afternoon to a cup-like hollow containing several 
acres carpeted with green grasses and beautified by 
beds of many-hued flowers. It was known as Onion 
Valley — another misnomer. It was an exquisite spot, 
high up on the mountains. A stream of clear water 
tumbled into it, over the granite wall that rose sheer 
several hundred feet in height — a noisy waterfall that 
enlivened the scene by its dash. 

From an elevated platform we looked out over the 
levels of the valleys, on toward Arizona and Nevada, 
into a landscape of mountains that in great procession 
filled the horizons as far as the eye could reach, range 
rising on range, a land of stone, bearing on its face 
the scars of turbulent ages, when the world was build- 
ing. The lofty sky was cloudless, and a great calm 
rested upon the scene like a benediction. Here we 
cast our tents, fascinated and satisfied. Our animals 
were soon reveling in the rich grasses of a virgin 
pasture, and we sat down to dream and to watch 
the lights and shadows of the glorious afternoon play 
hide and seek among the peaks and canyons that made 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 355 

up the slopes. It was no time or place for speech, for 
the delicious sweetness of the camp thralled the senses 
and touched the emotions, as a master touches the 
keys of a great instrument. Silence was our best 
contribution until a sweet-voiced girl, moved by the 
unutterable beauty, softly sang, "Some day we'll 
wander back again," to which our reverent and de- 
lighted hearts answered *'Amen." 

The night fell upon us with a thrall of the stars, 
the great moon and the glory of the moonlight moun- 
tains. For two free, gladsome days we just lived. 
Behind us we had left the tumult and the care, and 
for a time knew what life could be when one was 
absolutely free from the weight of responsibilities. As 
to all enticing human things comes the end, so came 
the end of this adventure, and on the morning of the 
third day we broke camp, and bidding our companions 
good-by, began our climb toward the summit. So 
abrupt do the mountains rise here, that a couple of 
miles brought us to the apex of the range where the 
trail crossed the summit, so clear-cut that while the 
front feet of our mules were on the western slope, 
their hind feet were still on the eastern — where a 
drop of rain falling upon a sharp rock and cut in 
two would divide, one-half to fall back into the desert 
and the other half to lose itself finally in the waters 
of the far-off Pacific. 

A glance backward to the mighty sweep of the 
desert range, with a rod or so of advance we were in 
the midst of a world as different from that we had 
left as if it were upon another planet. The view was 
of endless shapes of rock, measureless miles of pines, 



356 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

the sheen of lakes, the silver of streams and piles of 
summer clouds — a great panorama of uninhabited 
spaces, whose vastness made us hold our breath as 
its majesty suddenly unrolled before us. We seemed 
at times giddy with the sense of soaring through the 
high heavens and instinctively clutched the horns of 
our saddles to steady ourselves against a momentary 
weakness. We stood upon the threshold of a kingdom 
of might and power and splendor. The desolation, 
the mutilation, the scorching airs and the silences of 
Death Valley were forgotten, except for the wonder 
that within a distance of less than one hundred miles 
could exist such vastly dissimilar creations, — such con- 
trasts of Nature, one the antithesis of the other, and 
yet both equally great and compelling. The. marvel 
of it all is that from the summit, where we crossed, 
one could at the same moment look into the heart 
of each. 

Is there any land or latitude, such as California, 
where multitudes and variety — things delicate and 
stupendous — ^appalling and alluring — winsome and 
awful — are tangled together almost within the same 
horizon? The vast sweep of the sky above us and 
the far-off sky-lines are not the least of the great 
things that made up the wonderful scene that was 
before us. 

A half hour of inspiration, and down the trail we 
rode into the bosom of a valley closed in by walls of 
granite, darkened by the shadows of the dense forest, 
and beautified by a clear blue lake. It was another 
ideal spot, and as the sun was sinking behind the 
western mountains, we pitched our tent and settled 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 357 

down to further hours of content and dreams. Like 
the desert, the mountains have a presence and a spirit, 
which seem to the sensitive human spirit an intelli- 
gence which seeks to speak through manifold lips, to 
disclose its secrets, and to make audible the silence 
seldom broken except by the scream of the eagle, the 
loo of the deer for its fawn and the whistle of the 
bird for its mate. 

The spell was irresistible, and one can not shake off 
its influence, for it will have its way, and he is wise 
who yields and lets his senses drift at will until they 
become fully in touch with the indefinable something 
that at least counts for enlargement of mind and heart. 
This attitude is like unto one who has to learn a new 
language before he can understand its poetry and 
song. We felt this influence first in the little valley, 
and while we were in the flush of perfect health and 
our nerves were like steel wires, a profound sadness 
seized us and would not be denied. We lifted eyes 
of inquiry to the things about us, but they were as 
inscrutable as the face of the Sphinx. The squirrel 
in the tree-top, the bird on the wing, the lights and 
shadows through the trees suggested no solution. It 
must have been the weight of the tremendous things 
about us that bore down the senses, for it seemed 
to be a growing pain of the spirit striving to grow 
large enough to be worthy of the visible glory. 

The mood of that afternoon worked into our 
minds, and to this day, when we recall the time and 
the scene, the law of relation works and some of the 
same peculiar loneliness seems to descend upon us. 
It had some psychological basis. The little blue lake 



358 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

was alive with myriads of mountain trout, and our 
men and woman guide put in the hours fishing. The 
trout is by nature a wary thing, and these we found 
no exception. It was not because they had learned 
by the presence of fishermen the danger, for seldom 
were these wilds visited by those to whom the sport 
of the fisherman was a pastime. They were true to 
their instinct, and a shadow on the water, the fall of 
a hook on its surface, sent them flying to safety beyond 
the radius of the line. Our men were, however, skilled 
in their craft and familiar with the habits of these 
cunning fish, and so were able before the set of sun 
to land enough to give us a fine meal. The cold, clear 
waters had hardened the flesh of these fish, and made 
them delicious provender for a lot of hungry men 
whose appetites had been whetted by the day's climb 
and toil. A king's feast would not have equalled our 
supper, cooked as only those used to mountain camps 
can cook. It was a fine hour and our dining-room a 
royal one. 

The night had drawn its curtain about our camp 
and a pleasant pine-log fire filled the nearby woods 
with fleeting lights and shadows. There was witchery 
in it all. There was gladness in the comaraderie of 
our spirits, from which for the time had fallen all 
disturbing things, and there was in the heart the joy 
of those who have forgotten the strife and jealousy 
of life. We talked and laughed and sang as we ate 
the simple fare made delicious by abundant hunger. 
You, who love the cafe and grill, electric light, the 
cocktail and the champagne, are welcome to them, 
but for us are the wild woods, the camp fire, the sweet 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 359 

waters, and the companionship of true comrades sit- 
ting about a Spartan feast. We thrilled with the 
charm that has so often lured men from the centers 
of the world, from the glitter of society with its mani- 
fold opportunities, from noble careers, even, to seek 
the peace passing understanding, that abides in soli- 
tary places, severed from the passion and strife of 
modern civilization. 

It has been written that it is not a good thing for 
man to be alone. This philosophy is relative only, 
for it is the loneliness only of an inert life that leaves 
its mark upon the mind. The story of John Muir's 
life in the Sierras, where he grew from mediocrity to 
greatness, the experiences of Audubon, who wandered 
for years in the depths of Eastern woods, the wise 
lover of its winged dwellers, refute the statement. 
They sought for and found the beauty of the world 
in the pathless woods, and grew in strength, both 
mental and moral, upon the majesty of the great 
spaces wherein the mountains are set as monuments. 
They learned that. "To him who in the love of Nature 
holds communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
a varied language." 

There was in the chill of the night a freshness that 
intoxicated. We filled the lungs with deep, sweet 
draughts of mountain air, untainted by the poison of 
the city. The pine trees distilled from their resinous 
needles healing perfumes. Soon the influence of the 
night had its perfect work and we grew silent, yielding 
at last to the languor that woos one in perfect health 
to a dreamless sleep, and the light of the fire was 
reflected upon the faces of five sleepers ia absolute 



36o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

peace, so exquisite that even the splendor of a glori- 
ous sky had no power to tempt or disturb. What 
wonder that the worn invalid, weak and pale from 
his conflict with disease, who is wise enough to seek 
these sanitariums of nature, finds again perfect health, 
nerves calmed, lungs cleaned, heart steady, and blown 
from the brain all of its disturbing dreams. 

At the dawn following this glorious night, the dwel- 
lers of the mountains awoke, and from the tree-tops, 
waving in the breeze came the song of birds, sinless 
warblers voicing praise for life unto that Creator 
whose care is so infinite and personal that not a 
sparrow falleth to the ground without His notice. 
From invisible perches floated out a multitude of voices 
wherein the morning was made eloquent, and as the 
ascending sun shot its shafts of light through vibrat- 
ing leaves and quivered on the face of the lake, we 
gathered together our packs and soon were on the 
trail again for descent further into the heart of this 
domain where every step was a revelation of un- 
matched splendor. 

Great things are achieved only by great effort. 
There is no royal road even into the Kingdom of 
Heaven and it is written in the Scriptures that few 
tread the rocky trails that lead unto it. There are 
many Kingdoms of Heaven in this material and mis- 
understood world, but no man ever reached one of 
them except by toil, travail, and self-sacrifice. The 
road is narrow and hard, and therefore the multitudes 
prefer the broad, smooth-paved highways that lead to 
ease and satiety. 

We found the trail before us no exception to the 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 361 

rule, and more than once during the day we were 
compelled to unpack our mules and carry up to more 
level places their loads. These almost impassible parts 
of the trail were over ledges of rock, leaning at swift 
angles, and slick and slippery from the polish of 
ages of friction. It was a difficult feat for our mules, 
without packs, to cling and climb over these hard 
places, but they did climb, and upon higher level we 
were able from the new platform to look still further 
into the heart of the eternal hills. 

The climbing of rocky ledges was not the comple- 
ment of our difficulties, for there lurked in seductive 
levels new dangers, and before we were aware we 
found a couple of our animals, upon which were 
packed our blankets and bedding, mired in the slime 
of a mountain morass, formed by the percolating 
waters of nearby minor glaciers. This situation was 
more serious than the rocky heights of the trail, for 
the frightened mules floundered until our blankets and 
bedding were wet and muddy, and it was no easy 
task to extract them and their loads, for there was 
no fulcrum upon which to base our lever of relief. 
It was a question of do something quick, and, up to 
our waists in the mud, we unslung our packs and 
pulled and hauled and turned the struggling mules 
until by main strength and awkwardness, we landed 
them upon firm ground. We repacked them and sat 
down to rest and devise a way of escape from further 
disaster, for the morass extended on between high 
walls enclosing a little valley which seemed impos- 
sible to scale. We were not the first, however, who 
had met with this disaster, and with patient search- 



362 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ing we discovered the prints of hoofs leading up a 
crevice in the north wall, and we knew that what had 
been done, we could do, and with infinite toil we 
worked our way on to the heights above, and 
scrambled and stumbled along until we found our way 
back again to the trail beyond the treacherous morass. 
We were but a short way now from the canyon 
that led down into Bubb's Creek. While we were 
congratulating ourselves upon our good luck, we noted 
a troubled expression upon the face of our guide and 
that her eyes bore the shadow of a disturbing indeci- 
sion, and we said to her, "What is the matter now?" 
She replied, "We have lost the trail, I can find no 
trace of it anywhere." We cheered her up and said, 
"Oh, no, you could not lose the trail; the trail has 
lost you, and you will both come together again." It 
was a grateful smile that illuminated her rugged face, 
for she was not beautiful, and she said, "You people 
rest here and I will explore." She was in command, 
and we obeyed. Down the slope she hurried with her 
eyes glued to the ground, except now and then when 
she would stand still and study the peaks and slopes 
about, seeking, like a mariner approaching a coast, 
for some headland by which on previous voyages he 
had steered safely into port. An hour or more she 
spent in this patient search, and she covered more than 
a mile of distance. Just as we began to harbor a 
little doubt, for the day was fading into the late after- 
noon, we heard her faint shout, and her waving arms 
told us to come on. Over the surface of loose rock 
we worked our way, to find where she stood the well- 
worn trail. She had been right, and the trail h&d lost 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 363 

her instead of her losing the trail. An avalanche had 
for more than half a mile buried the trail under its 
debris, that was all. 

Here we desire to make a part of literature, so far 
as this book may become such, the courage, skill and 
kindliness of this simple woman, a daughter of the 
wilds, uncouth in manner, rude at times in speech, but 
of heroic mold and with a generous soul. There 
was about her a certain dignity which lifted her into 
the deferential consideration of all of us, her comrades 
on this great trip into a great domain. She was 
certain of herself always, knew where she was, knew 
what to do, and how to do it. Through her guidance 
and suggestion we were able during two weeks, with- 
out waste of time or distance, to take in the glorious 
things that make this lonely but sublime wilderness 
the most wonderful place of all the wonderful places 
of California. 

From the discovered trail we descended through 
the little canyon which leads down from the high lands 
to the level of Bubb's Creek, and before the day died, 
we were camped upon its banks — and what a glori- 
ous place it was! No pen can describe it, for no 
mind could put its glories into language worthy of 
the theme. We spread our blankets for the night 
at the foot of a wall of granite four thousand feet in 
sheer uplift, so perfect that when we rested our tired 
heads against its base, we could lift our eyes to its 
apex. Could words make any reader understand 
what such a wall of granite is, nearly three-quarters 
of a mile in height, a sheer, clean uplift of rock. The 
shadows began to gather about us, and we drifted in 



364 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

the glorious environment to the dreams of what the 
white light of the coming day would reveal unto us. 
We awoke from our dreams at dawn, — and such a 
dawn ! The East was hidden by the great wall of rock 
that formed the background of our royal sleeping 
place, and we could not see its glory, but we knew 
that there were splendid colors there, for over our 
heads streamed great pinions of light, long shafts that 
shot their glory into the hearts of the clouds crown- 
ing the heights beyond us in the West, framing the 
headlands on whose stony brows, from Creation's 
dawn, eternal snows had held their life against all 
the battles of the sun — fleecy clouds, great continents 
of white, loosely floated into the blue, changing each 
moment like a drilling regiment on parade, and as 
they shifted took on new shapes and piled into the 
higher heavens — visions of one of Nature's marvels, 
and pure as the soul of a child. Thus the day opened 
and brightened from dawn until the whole stupendous 
mass of mountains, the intervening canyons, dells and 
coverts, were overflowing with the fulness of noon, 
and the great sun sailed into the zenith, melting the 
clouds, disclosing the faces and ridges and near glories 
of the most wonderful groups of scenery in the heart 
of the High Sierras. Here there was mass, range 
and beauty, which first stuns, then moves to tears, 
and then lifts the spirit into its first real appreciation 
of the Mind that could dream of such and of the 
creative hand that, in the warp and woof of building 
forces, could give them such shapes of unutterable 
beauty. We can hint only at it all. Seldom, in the 
presence of things that are really great, are we able 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 365 

to take in at first the great beauties. The mind must 
be stirred out of its normal conditions, exalted by 
the quickened imagination, and into it all must be 
poured the very richness of our spiritual endowment. 

Splendor floods the mind and we grow as we look. 
This was our mood on that first morning on the 
banks of Bubb's Creek. A description of our camp- 
ing ground and the views from it will best expose the 
wonders of this glorious mountain heart, silent, su- 
preme, masterful, where from the shadows of deep 
canyons there towered into the empire of the sun 
peaks set in the swing of the world, headlands stand- 
ing out into the reaches of distance, impressive, grand 
and lonely in their mighty solitudes. 

In the foreground a wild, rock-walled valley, dark 
with the tangled shade, rested the eyes, which grew 
dim at times with the endless vision of the far-off 
mightier thing. Down through these sunless woods 
leaped and dashed the great creek, almost a river in 
its volume of waters. Just a mile away in front of 
us were three perpendicular cliffs akin to the one at 
whose base we had set our camp. Out over the sky- 
lined rim of these, three great waterfalls, neither less 
than twenty-five hundred feet in height, sprang into 
the air and swayed like long ribbons into the valley 
below. The distance was so great, that as these falls 
swayed in the breeze like delicate laces, they lost the 
solidity of their first outleap and dissolved into mists. 
Now and then the breeze swayed toward us and we 
caught the faint splash of waters, evanescent voices 
full of poetic suggestion. These waterfalls were ex- 
quisitely beautiful, and during the days we were ^t 



366 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

this camp of the gods, many an hour we spent, lying 
as if in a trance, against the granite battlements of our 
camp, and let the delighted senses sway and drift with 
the falling waters. 

There are times when men hunger to be great, and 
this was one of my hours of such hunger. If I could 
only make visible to others the marvel and beauty of 
these waterfalls and their environments, I feel that I 
would not have failed in some moral contribution to 
mankind. It is not true always that the will is equiva- 
lent to the deed. The traveler who comes to Califor- 
nia, expecting to view its marvels from the .window 
of a Pullman, will be disappointed. Its real glories 
are hidden in almost inaccessible places, and climbing, 
weariness and discomfort are the price one is com- 
pelled to pay, and he who is not willing to pay the 
price will be denied. 

In the depths of the great canyons in this region 
there are trees that flourished when Rome was mis- 
tress of the world ; when Demosthenes was delivering 
his immortal orations in Greece ; Homer singing his 
songs for the Immortals; Caesar throwing away his 
empire for a woman's smile; Antony toying with 
Cleopatra in Egypt, wasting the hours of empire in 
dalliance, "drinking the Libyan sun to sleep and then 
lighting lamps that outburned Canopus." Christ was 
in his cradle in Bethlehem more than eighteen hundred 
years after the tiny seedlings of these majestic mon- 
archs of the forest lifted their heads to the morning 
dews and the silence of the Sierra hills. 

A week of glorious days we spent here, days of 
rest to mind and spirit — days we will not forget— 



IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 367 

days whose peace and beauty were engraved into our 
life, immortal days made of golden hours. Things 
fragile and delicate are often the attendants upon 
those of power. Here in the shadow of the cliffs 
towering toward the sun, we found blossoms peculiar 
to these high altitudes, living only in the short sum- 
mer, ferns waving their arms in great fan-like shapes, 
or nestling at the base of protecting rocks, most ex- 
quisite members of the same family, fine as a maiden's 
hair. This floral and fern Hfe constitutes one of the 
most attractive sights, for it seems a paradox of 
Nature that in places 'given over so frequently to 
storm and tempest, there should come and flourish 
flowers brilliant in color and perfect in form, of abun- 
dant richness in quality and quantity. We have al- 
ways associated the ferns with the tropics, yielding 
their beauty only to the allurement of warm climates. 
It seems as if these lofty solitudes are a law unto 
themselves, and as if they were great enough to be 
and to do as they please. This is manifest in the 
atmosphere, for the days had as many moods as a 
coquettish girl. Often the cloudless sky, full of the 
sun, would in a moment fill with lowering clouds and 
the drenching downpour would drive to shelter, and 
then as if by magic the clouds would break, and the 
cliffs and the peaks and the woods would shine under 
the sky without a cloud, from horizon to horizon. 

Here we found the grandest fishing ground in 
California. The great creek was alive with trout, 
and day by day our men caught them by the hundreds. 
Often we were compelled to stay the sport, which 
would otherwise from excitement have become a 



368 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

"slaughter of the innocents." Our guide was a famous 
cook. She was an artist in her skill to brown without 
burning, and at every meal she piled up before each 
of us a heaping plate of these delicious fish. We 
feasted like kings for a long week. We were satiated 
but not sated; nothing in this wonder-land could sate. 
There could be no weariness, for pure air, perfect 
health, excellent spirits, buoyed every sense, and to 
be alive was enough to make one happy. 

The late summer waned into autumn, and now and 
then the clouds warned us by a fall of fleecy snow- 
flakes, and so we gathered together our mules, who 
had reveled in abandonment among juicy grasses, and 
with adjusted packs climbed the trail to the high land 
again, and near the noon of a perfect day, from the 
last point from which the glorious cavern with its 
wondrous views was visible, we turned for one long, 
grateful look, and then to its silence and splendor we 
left this empire of glorious things, hidden in the 
heart of tremendous mountains, whose breadth and 
height had enlarged the measure of our own natures. 



Chapter XX 

UNIQUE CHARACTERS OF THE DESERT- 
MAN AND ANIMAL 

rri HE law of enviornment has no more illustrative ex- 
"'' amples of its operating force than in the make-up 
of men and animals who find their home in the sec- 
tions where mines and minerals are found. The ''hay- 
seed" farmer is no more to his manner born than 
is the prospector whose instinct for mineral becomes 
the habit of his life which controls him as the main- 
spring does the watch. No sailor has a more passion- 
ate love for the deck of a ship and the swell of the 
seas, than the prospector has for the lonely recesses 
of the hills and the far-off camps in the mountains. 
He is never perfectly at home except when he has no 
home; he is a wanderer, it may be with his partner, 
for they often travel in pairs, or alone, his sole com- 
panion his patient burro, who packs his blankets, his 
"grub" and his prospecting outfit. He is a character 
always, frequently a man of education, keenly intelli- 
gent, resourceful, and of great courage. He may have, 
and doubtless has, weak places in his nature, but in 
substantial manhood he measures up far beyond the 
thousands who are content to hang about cities and 
eke out a precarious livelihood among the multitudes, 

369 



370 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

to whom dirt, dust and the squalor of foul tenements 
are more enticing than the sweet, clean earth, the open 
sky and pure waters, where the pulses beat strong with 
perfect health and the nerves are like the strings of 
a perfectly tuned musical instrument — where to be 
alive is a joy. 

We have known many of these men, have been with 
them on their tramps into the hills and into the desert, 
have supped with them by their camp fires, lain down 
with them to sleep in the far-off places, and with them 
felt the thrill of life free from shadow and care. We 
felt the power of things that first attracted these men 
to the life itself, and then held them by a fascination 
afterwards, led them to forego the ordinary relations 
of human beings, to find more in the wilds than com- 
pensation for the loss of home, the love of woman, 
the prattle of children, the giving up of music, art, 
culture and the amenities of social life. To us, of 
course, this all seems an awful price to pay, but this 
estimate comes only from our standpoints. Life is 
always relative, its pleasures and sorrows are never 
absolute, and no one, until he has tried both lives to 
their ultimate conclusion, is competent to say that the 
prospector who lives in loneliness, who has no fixt 
habitation, has lost in the swap he has made. Civiliza- 
tion, with all of its brilliant opportunities, produces 
its scores of degenerates who are never dignified or 
clean until they are straightened for the grave. Mod- 
ren society swarms with multitudes to v/hom life is 
a dissipation, whose moral perceptions are blurred by 
the glare of Vanity Fair, to whom sober moments are 



UNIQUE CHARACTERS 371 

unknown, and whose physical passions run riot with 
their spirits. 

The prospector may be a rude man, uncouth, even 
desperate. For lack of better things he may, when in 
town, drink himself to the borders of delirium, gamble 
away his last dollar and even his outfit, swear and 
shout and fight, but he stands always a stalwart figfure, 
away above the degenerate line, and is ready to slay 
the man who dares to accuse him of mean or dis- 
honest action. Towards women he is reverentially 
courteous, to children kindly, to his fellow generous 
to a fault, ready to divide all of his possessions with 
him in distress. His moral strength has been molded 
and is sustained by the silent communion he has had 
when in the silences of the mountains he has held con- 
verse with himself; and as he has looked into the deeps 
of the sky, while lying alone upon his pallet on the slope 
of the mountain, he has seen as a vision the fine moral 
relations which should exist among men. 

The prospector is almost always "broke." He has 
no commercial instincts, and unless he is at last suc- 
cessful in finding pay-streak, he is dependent upon 
some friend who is willing to "grubstake" him, that is, 
to outfit him with the food and supplies necessary 
for his simple wants while he is in the field. The 
grubstaker for his contribution is to be partner in all 
finds. From these partnerships have been derived 
some of the colossal fortunes of the West. These 
contracts are usually verbal, and it is the history of 
the mining world that they are seldom broken. The 
average prospector's word is as good as most men's 
bond. There have been, and are, exceptions, but judi- 



Z72 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

cial history discloses but few instances where the pros- 
pector was unfaithful to his promise given to the 
man whose generosity and hope made it possible for 
him to make his searches. The prospector himself is 
the usual sufferer, for he has little business acumen, 
and if he makes a promising find, is wilHng to sell 
for whatever his wiser partner is willing to pay him, 
or to any one who is willing to pay the price. 

With this price in his pocket, however small it may 
be, the prospector is for the time a rich man, and in- 
dulges in the pleasures of the nearby town, or if he 
has money enough hies to the metropolis to take in 
the gaieties of civilized life. He is of generous mold, 
and as long as it lasts, money runs through his fingers 
like sand. He has for the time extravagant tastes, 
and there is no limit to the indulgences; he feasts on 
the best that money can buy, and is satisfied only with 
those wines which have the oldest and costliest labels. 
He frequents the corridor of the famous hotels and 
becomes prominent among the attaches, from boot- 
black to barkeeper by his prodigality. He tips with 
both hands, and has no time to distinguish between 
a ten-cent piece and a ten-dollar gold piece. He gets 
into as much of the swim as is open to him and is a 
"big fish." He has his day, enjoys himself to the 
utmost, and when he finds the bottom of his purse, 
with no regrets he turns his back on it all, forgets the 
lights, the laughter, the champagne and the "joy 
wagon" with its loads of dainty damsels, and the place 
which knew him knows him no more — not perhaps 
forever, but until in the far-off hills he again makes a 
lucky find. 



UNIQUE CHARACTERS 373 

There is no certain chance of success attending his 
searches and he may cHmb the mountains, thread the 
lonely ridges, and hunt and hunt without success. 
He takes his chances, and if, forsooth, they be against 
him, pursues the even tenor of his way without com- 
plaint, the same patient, cheerful plodder, buoyed al- 
ways by the hope which "springs eternal" in his breast. 

We have not drawn above a picture of the average 
prospector or of his general results, rather the excep- 
tion out of the great army of such, as have for fifty 
years searched the mineral regions of the coast, from 
the Arctic circle down into the heart of Mexico. Per- 
haps one in a hundred has such an experience. There 
are notable examples, however, of such, who having 
found the object of their dreams have been wise 
enough to hold on and to develop until the find has 
grown into a great mine, whose value mounts into 
the millions, and with their wealth have entered upon 
a financial career at last to rank with the millionaires 
of the country. These are also among the exceptions 
to prospecting life. It was a maxim of Marvin, the 
great horseman who did so much to develop and 
frame the marvelous products of horseflesh that made 
the. Palo Alto stables of Stanford famous throughout 
the world, that it took a hundred colts to furnish one 
racehorse. From our knowledge of the average pros- 
pector, as we have known him in his native wilds, 
we surmise that this proportion may be safely applied 
to him, if it is not indeed too small. 

Hope is the breath of the prospector's life. It sus- 
tains him year after year, sends him expectant and 
lighthearted again and again into the mountain re- 



374 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

gions, and returns with him, his comforter, when ex- 
hausted supplies compel him to seek the town where 
he outfits for his campaign. The spring and sum- 
mer are his seasons. During the winter he hibernates 
and becomes a familiar figure in the saloons of the 
little mining camps where he is among his friends. 
The church and temperance societies rail against the 
saloon. We can not say that there is not a basis for 
some of the attacks, because in the hands of most they 
become pestilential places. But there is, after all, 
something to be said in their favor, for they furnish 
on the frontier the only place where men like a pros- 
pector, with no family, no social relations, no welcome 
to the homes of others, can find light, warmth, wel- 
come and companionship. Before we rail against 
these sole refuges of the homeless man in lonely places, 
let us put ourselves in the place of such men, with 
their experiences, and measure the moral relations in- 
volved. We know whereof we speak, for we have 
spent many a night about the warm stoves of these 
saloons, when icy winds rocked them, and from which 
men had to find a refuge or perish. Many church- 
men would marvel, could they have heard the discus- 
sions indulged in around these stoves; literature, 
science, art and religion were not infrequent topics, . 
and many a bright and winning word have we heard 
fall from the lips of those frequenters of the frontier 
saloon. In cities men go to saloons to drink; not 
always so in the desert. 

We now recall one lone winter night we spent with 
a group of prospectors and miners. The topic was 
the Bible. A fierce storm waged without, and the 



UNIQUE CHARACTERS 375 

warmth and light within were alhiring. Now and 
then the crowd would step up to the bar by kindly 
invitation and "smile," but all through the long hours 
the discussion went on and the decorum was as per- 
fect as if we had been within a cathedral. One of the 
party was a Biblical scholar, and under the influence 
of the kindly minds about him, he poured out his 
knowledge, now and again halted by some inquiry 
that exhibited a pure desire for clear explanation of 
some profound question that had disturbed devout 
souls for centuries. It was a great night, and we 
broke up only when through the windows to our 
astonishment there streamed the light of dawn. 

When the melting snows on the hilltops indicate 
that it is safe to go into the field, the streets of the 
outfitting towns become lively with the prospectors 
and their burros, getting ready for another try. This 
is an interesting sight, which we never tired of watch- 
ing. The biirro is as much a part of our desert regions 
as the camel is of the Sahara, and he has much the 
same capacity to endure long hours of travel under 
trying conditions, with but little food and less water. 
If after a hot day's climb over rocky trails he finds 
only a "dry camp" at nightfall, he shows no signs of 
distress, and the next day jogs along as if he had been 
filled with sweet waters. It is a standing joke of the 
frontier that the burro will fatten upon the ham-rags 
that the prospector throws away, and even that he 
can assimilate the tin cans which he finds about his 
camp. 

It is quite an art to pack a burro so that he shall 
carry the utmost he is capable of carrying-, and to 



376 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

make all secure by ropes that lash the load to the 
pack-saddle or other appliances. Long experience has 
made the prospector a master of it, and it is wonder- 
ful how much he can stow away upon the back of 
his faithful burden-bearer. If there are two pros- 
pectors, as there are usually, there are three burros. 
It is an interesting sight to see them patiently stand- 
ing, sleepy-eyed, before the little store, while the 
owners gather together the provisions and supplies 
for the trip. The average cargo of a prospector's 
outfit is made up as follows : a sack of flour, a sack 
of beans, a side of bacon, several cans of ground coffee, 
a sack of sugar, a bag of salt, a paper of pepper, and 
if he is "flush," an assortment of canned meats and 
fruit. Experience has given to the prospector the 
capacity to accurately determine just the amount of 
provisions that will last during the intended month 
or months that he will be absent and beyond the reach 
of further supplies. These are strapped firmly on 
one burro; the second burro is the bearer of the 
blankets and the other coverings that constitute the 
bedding for the trip. Not a great amount of this is 
needed, for the weather more than likely will be hot, 
and the bedding will be needed principally to soften 
the hard earth upon which the prospector lies, than 
to protect him from the chill of the nights. The 
third burro carries the prospecting outfit — tools, 
powder, fuse, a few chemicals for testing ores, and 
simple cooking utensils. To this may be added what- 
ever extra clothing will be required. This last, how- 
ever, is quite a small bundle, for not much is demanded 
in the way of clothing — an extra pair of overalls. 



UNIQUE CHARACTERS 377 

a few rough shirts and an extra pair of hobnailed 
boots, of thick rawhide, is about the complement of 
the extra wardrobe. A bottle or two of whisky, 
antidote for snakebites, is likely to be found snuggled 
in between the blankets. 

At last all is ready, and with a few farewell drinks 
at the favorite saloon and a few parting words of 
good-by, the prospectors with their trio of burros 
strike the trail. The burros are slow moving beasts, 
and no persuasive efforts, violent or otherwise, have 
the force to move them except for a moment, and 
for a rod or so of distance, to increase their pace 
beyond their constitutional plod. The burro is cer- 
tain but slow. He lacks speed, but is wise in his day 
and generation. He knows where he is going and 
remembers the heavy climbs and the rocky trails, and 
tho he is fresh from the pasture, where he has rested 
for months, he does not intend to dissipate his strength 
by any spurts of unnecessary speed. He is thoroughly 
versed in the philosophy of the scripture, "Sufficient 
unto the day is the evil thereof," and an average of 
about two miles an hour is about his rate of speed. 

One, perhaps the chief, quality, of the little homely 
burdenbearer, is his loyalty to the camp. He requires 
no hobbling or tethering, and once relieved of his 
burden, he searches for water and food, always re- 
maining within the radius of a circle of which the 
camp is the near center. This habit is what makes 
him the favorite of the prospector over all other 
animals. He is ugly and lazy, but he is loyal. If 
there be two prospectors, one leads on the trails and 
the other plods behind. This is the unvarying pros- 



378 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

pector's procession one so often meets with in the 
desert, in the hills and the mountains of mineral 
regions. 

Another valuable aid to the development of mining 
countries, where roads are scarce and the trails the 
only highway, is the pack mule. He is of great en- 
durance and a natural common carrier. Over high 
mountains, down into deep canyons, along trails that 
are full of desperate perils, he carries supplies to far- 
off camps and transports to mills and reduction works 
ores from almost inaccessible mines. They are not 
the pure-blooded natives of Kentucky, that one sees 
in the great mule teams, but a little Mexican with 
the capacity to pack over high mountains a load equal 
to its own weight and to endure fatigue and priva- 
tions that would slay animals of nobler lineage. They 
are often dealt with by their owners and drivers with 
merciless brutality. We have seen more than once 
a whole train, when relieved of their packs, exhibit 
hides skinned and scarred with bleeding sores, the 
result of careless packing and inequality of balance 
in their loads, and once at Lone Pine we saw four 
overloaded victims of this damnable cruelty lie down 
and die with their packs on their backs. There were 
no societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals, 
and a protest from a humane onlookei; was usually met 
by a profane request to mind his own business. 

The capacity of these little animals to carry is some- 
thing marvelous. While we were at Lone Pine, there 
was in operation on the south side of the Inyo Moun- 
tains, down in a deep canyon, a pay mine, at which 
was a rude mill. A casting, weighing six hundred 



UNIQUE CHARACTERS 379 

pounds, was needed there. It was in one piece, and 
could not be carried except as an entirety. The ascent 
to the summit of the range, four thousand feet above 
the valley, was so steep that a zigzag saw-tooth trail 
had been cut out of the solid rock. No mule except 
one that had become accustomed to this dangerous 
trail could carry any load at all around the acute 
angles, for to make the turn required that the front 
feet should be set beyond the apex of the angle, and 
then the hind feet worked around, with the fore feet 
fixt as a pivot, until the whole body was finally in 
a direct line with the trail. These difficult places were 
frequently just over the sheer wall of a precipice 
hundreds of feet in height, and a false step meant a 
slip and a dash to death on the rocks below. The 
mule train that carried over this trail were cunning 
in their skill to make in safety these perilous turns, 
and they overcame the dangers with almost human 
intelligence. Such was the trail over which, without 
rest, for twenty-five miles, some mule must pack this 
six hundred pound casting. The well-nigh impossi- 
bility of the act will be apparent from the fact that 
three hundred pounds were regarded as the average 
load of a mule. At last a little fellow was found that 
had never failed, and while he did not very much 
exceed in weight the weight of the casting itself, it 
was decided as a forlorn hope that if he could not 
carry it, it could not be done, and marvelous as it 
may seem, he did pack the casting without a minute's 
rest from the crushing weight, and delivered it safely 
at the mill. We saw him afterwards, and in our 
admiration for his powers, we felt like saluting him 



38o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

with uncovered head, and it is but just to say that his 
owners, usually cruel to their animals, recognized the 
wonderful feat, and he was afterwards the favorite, 
and no man could purchase him for any price. The 
hard hearts of his drivers had been softened by 
admiration of his heroic work. 

The riding mule is also a wonderful part of the 
desert equipment, and is greatly valued for his capac- 
ity to cover distances rapidly without tiring. The best 
of these, like all fine things, are scarce, and one has 
to patiently search before he finds a good one. They 
always command a high price from the poor Mexican 
who owns them, — from three to five hundred dollars 
a head. The most ignorant Mexican well knows the 
value of such a mule, and will not sell, no matter how 
pressing his wants, unless he gets his price. Often- 
times, among a band of ordinary mules, one will find 
animals of real beauty of form, and of good action. 
These, however, are the exception, and the general 
average can be bought at all the way from fifty to 
one hundred dollars a head, depending upon the com- 
mercial sense of the owner and his necessities. The 
riding mule is generally an ungainly object, built fre- 
quently on the grayhound plan, tall, long-bodied, 
deep-chested, and with shoulders and hips knotted 
with masses of propelling muscles. One of these, who 
more than once bore me over miles of rock and sand, 
belonged to a friend who was the superintendent of 
a mine situated in the lower end of Pannamint Valley, 
eighty miles from Lone Pine. This distance he was 
compelled to make in a day, when he came from and 
went to the mine. To accomplish these eighty miles 



UNIQUE CHARACTERS 381 

in a pleasant country with smooth roads, through 
cheering landscapes, in presence of orchards and vine- 
lands, and under a gentle climate, would be quite a 
feat, if accomplished in ten hours. The marvel of 
the feat became apparent when done by this mule 
several times a month, over long reaches of hot sand, 
tiresome miles of rocky trail, under a burning sun, 
where the watering places were twenty miles apart. 
We had need of such a mule in our business and tried 
to buy this one, but the reply to our endeavor was that 
this mule was not for sale at any price. It was not 
because she was a thing of beauty, for she was an 
ungainly piece of mule-flesh, with white eyes and 
pinto hide, and was slab-sided ; she looked like a 
vicious thing, but was as kind as a lamb. 

As a part of the population of desert towns there 
is often a nondescript derelict, without hope or work, 
a mere hanger-on of life, satisfied to the full if he 
can obtain food enough to stay starvation and whisky 
enough to keep his hide stretched. He is like the 
lily of the Scriptures in that he neither toils, nor 
spins, but it can not be said that he is arrayed like 
one of these. Originally he was a prospector or 
miner, but successive failure or whisky has dried 
up the springs of hope and industry, and he lives only 
because the climate is too wholesome to kill him. He 
is like the stream in the poem that flows on forever 
tho men may come and go. He is a perennial and a 
component part of the human scenery of every fron- 
tier town and camp. How he manages to live is an 
unsolved problem always to the men who are com- 
pelled to work that they may live. His chief asset 



382 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

is perfect health ; cancer and appendicitis find no fruit- 
ful soil in him, and his heart works as steadily as a 
piston-rod. He is an illustrious member of that com- 
munity in the world that claims the world owes them 
a living. Is it possiWe that they are real philosophers, 
to whom experience has given the highest wisdom; 
that they know that only the fool toils and sweats 
and worries in a world where all at last is resolved 
back into dust and ashes, and that Harriman's empire, 
which cost him his life, is nothing to the handful of 
dust that lies moldering in the little six-by-six of 
ground in the splendid acres of Arden? 

Two remaining factors there are, whose work 
makes possible the development of the mines. They 
are the tributor and the miner. The tributor is an 
independent, the miner is a regular. The tributor 
is usually a graduate from the miner community, who 
has concluded that to be his own employer and boss 
is more agreeable than to be subject to the com- 
mands of another. He is intelligent, and, barring a 
few of the habits of men without wife, children and 
home, is steady and industrious. His field of opera- 
tion is in the mines of others, where he works for a 
proportion of the ore he produces. He is limited only 
by a few rules that prevent him "gouging," that is, 
taking out ore without regard to the general integrity 
of the mine. To the mine owner, who has not sufficient 
means to systematically open up and extend his 
underground workings, the tributor is a benefaction, 
for in his search for ore without cost to the owner, 
and which he makes with great industry and keen in- 
stinct, he is working for himself. He sinks shafts, 



UNIQUE CHARACTERS 383 

stopes out ore. Thus, as happens frequently, he de- 
velops a prospect into a paying mine, and the owner 
becomes a mining millionaire. 

The real miner who, like the sailor — "once a sailor, 
always a sailor" — is once a miner, always a miner, 
and in established mining centers is a well-recognized 
part of the community, a factor in business, political 
and social life, for he is most frequently a man of 
family with a home, a good wife and happy children. 
Good wages he commands, and by industry, he keeps 
his brood in comfort, and after buying a home, puts 
a monthly surplus into the bank for rainy days. He 
is usually a clean, strong man, competent and brave, 
and if he is treated fairly and paid promptly, loyal 
to the man for whom he works. One thing he must 
have, however, and that is a competent boss, one 
who knows his business and who wears a steel glove 
under a velvet one. Under such a one, he works 
intelligently and cheerfully; otherwise, he is full of 
"grouch" and discontented, and soon throws up his 
job. It, therefore, behooves the mine owner to see to 
it that his superintendent and foremen are men of 
knowledge and force, or all will go wrong and lead 
to disaster. 

Different nationalities form the great army of 
workers in the mining districts, and as a nationality 
predominates, a law of natural selection seems to 
finally reduce the entire mining population of one 
particular place to one nationality, and thus we find 
the Cornishman, the Mexican, or the native miner, 
grouped into communities and formulating laws and 
regulations that, more than any other influence, con- 



384 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

trols the situation and fixes the relation that must 
exist harmoniously between the owner and employee. 
Barring some instances of oppression on one side and 
unwarranted demands on the other, the relations that 
ordinarily exist and have existed for years between 
owner and miner have been friendly and productive of 
the best economic results. 

Walking delegates have at times disturbed this 
harmony, but, like disturbed waters, they have at last 
found a satisfactory natural level, and all was well 
again. 



Chapter XXI 

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 

*T« HERE is a magnetic attraction in solitude to some 
■*■ minds almost as well defined as gravitation in 
physics. This is often irresistible, and the alienist would 
perhaps insist that there is in these minds some want of 
tone — some rift somewhere, that like a break in a 
lute mars the melody, and that they are like "sweet 
bells jangled out of tune." This we leave to the 
philosopher to whom mental science is a study, to the 
psychologist who delves into the secrets of the spirit 
and endeavors to peer beyond the brain cells into the 
occult influences that move men even against their 
wills. The world calls the ordinary-acting man 
normal. If, however, the world, that intangible mass, 
with its conglomerate confusion of ideas, crudeness 
and ignorance, was called upon to define what was 
meant by "normal," it would look at you in wild-eyed 
wonder and mumble out of its uncouth lips that it 
did not know. Scorning its Christs, crucifying its 
great souls, waiting for the verification of centuries 
before it understands the truth, the world is still ready 
to criticize. 

We are not able to distinguish between normal and 
unusual minds. All that we will attempt to do, is to 
set out the story of several lives that we found under 

385 



386 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

peculiar conditions during our travels from British 
Columbia to Mexico, and leave the solution to those 
more competent than we to measure the spirit and 
fix the exterior boundaries of its thought and feel- 
ing. All that we know is that these lives were tragic, 
full of mystery, infinitely pathetic. They must have 
been lonely; there must have been some soreness in 
the heart that made the cheek wan, the eyes sad, the 
lips silent. In each instance they were remarkable 
men of great mental power, manifold endowments; 
were cultivated scholars, graduates from renowned 
schools of learning, able to discuss in rare speech 
ancient and modern learning, adepts in wisdom, and 
gifted to such a degree that as active members of 
society anywhere in the world they would have held 
high stations among their fellows. 

The first of these we knew as a schoolboy at Healds- 
burg, where we for a time were a scholar at the then 
pretentious agricultural college established and pre- 
sided over by Colonel Rod Mathison, — not famous 
then, but who became so afterwards as a Colonel in 
the Civil War, where he won his rank by heroic serv- 
ice, at last to be slain at the head of his regiment in 
a desperate charge in one of its bloodiest battles. The 
little village was then just emerging from its first 
conditions, was growing slowly into shape as a town 
with a town's ambitions, hopes and social life. The 
outlying country, by the beauty of its sceneries, the 
fertility of its soil, was an ideal place for the homes 
of those to whom the repose of country life was more 
satisfying than the turmoil of cities. Tho the popu- 
lation was sparse, and the distances from home to 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 387 

home long, there were enough to furnish to the Httle 
college a goodly number of youths, male and female, 
to pursue studies as everywhere in America, broad 
and comprehensive enough to equip the country boy 
for any station in life and the country girl, with a 
little after poUsh, to take her place in the best home 
of the land as its accomplished mistress. Life 
was simple and strong; no stern calls then reached 
us from the outside, where in after years we were to 
strive and suffer defeat and win victories, and while 
we worked we did not falter in the serenity of those 
schooldays. And at times now, in the stir and whirl 
of strife, when we are worn and sore, memory awakens 
longings for the old days, the wholesome careless- 
ness, the warm friendships and the first loves that 
seemed so good because they were so true. 

It may seem that all this is a digression, and so it 
is ; but would you hope that we could out of the mem- 
ory of years, write of things that happened long 
ago in the happy places, without stopping just a 
moment to let the soul refresh itself with old visions, 
just as some wanderer of the world after his circle 
of the globe, after shivering among icebergs in the 
north, wandering in burning sands of trackless deserts, 
fighting his way across unknown wastes of silent con- 
tinents, drifting through dreamy days in the islands 
of the Southern Seas, stands for a moment on 
the hilltop behind the old orchard of his boyhood 
home and through the mist of tears looks again upon 
the old homestead where, the moss-covered bucket is 
still standing upon the rim of the old well, and the 
same honeysuckle still caresses the window through 



388 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

which the morning sun touched his young eyehds, 
and then beyond to the "God's Acre," where a white 
shaft lifts above the ashes of his beloved dead. 

But sit down with us a moment on the college steps, 
for yonder comes "Old Jack," staggering, lumbering 
along under his heavy load of drunkenness, for when 
in town he was always drunk — in fact, that was his 
sole business when he came to town. He was just 
"Old Jack;" no other name he had, for no matter 
how submerged his faculties might be with his cargo 
of gin, no artifice would open his lips to a disclosure 
of either his name or home. And so for several years 
he was from time to time seen by us and talked with, 
but remained "Old Jack." He lived somewhere in 
the hills of the Coast Range that are tumbled into 
high, confused masses in Northern Sonoma, north of 
Healdsburg — where no one knew, for in everything 
but getting drunk he was as mysterious and silent as 
the Egyptian Sphinx. We concluded from a certain 
slowness of speech, a certain robustness of frame, the 
hang of his body and swing in his walk, and the fact 
that he was a graduate of Oxford, that he was an 
Englishman. He was made of steel, for under his 
slouchy dress and general uncleanliness there were 
sinews of a Samson. He was dirty and unkempt, 
but he was massive. His shaggy mane, for it could 
hardly be called hair, was twisted, tangled and un- 
kept, and gave him a sort of lion-like fierceness, tho 
there were lines visible in his face when it was clean 
enough to disclose them, found only in the faces of 
men of fine nervous organizations. There was a 
majesty in the man that neither uncleanness nor drunk- 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 389 

enness had power to touch or mar. He was like 
a splendid Corinthian column, beautiful even tho it 
lay in the mire. There was a fire and sweetness in 
his wonderful eyes which were like deep clear pools 
when his intellect and spirit stirred him. These lights 
and shadows were evanescent, and came and went 
as the blush does on the cheek of a pleased maiden. 
They were the windows through which the soul of a 
rarely gifted man looked forth out of its solemn deeps 
upon the visible world, with which it seemed to have 
no sympathy, no spiritual relations, no moral com- 
panionship. It always seemed that his soul was in 
ruins, and in this ruin there was something over- 
whelmingly awful — the terror of spiritual desolation, 
the despair of the immortal that had somehow "sinned 
away its day of grace" — a spirit that stood alone in 
the universe bracing itself against some terrible fore- 
boding. 

We were too young then to know of the terror 
possible to a spirit that had fallen from its high estate 
and misused its divinity. Experience of life since 
has given us some glimpses of this, tho they have 
been faint. We still know enough to make us avoid 
more knowledge, and we have no desire to become 
expert in dissecting the woe of despairing spirits. 
Poor Old Jack, long ago (for he was then of middle 
age) must have gone over the Great Divide and into 
the kingdom where there is a God of mercy and life 
everlasting, where he must have found rest for his 
weary spirit in the abundance of its perfect peace. 

He was a scholar in the noblest sense. In the shades 
of Oxford he had enriched his mind with the learn- 



390 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ing of the world. He was profoundly versed in the 
higher mathematics, and no problem seemed to him 
anything but a toy. The calculation of the coming 
of an eclipse, the accurate measurement of distances 
between the stars, were to him of easy accomplish- 
ment. In the classics he was as familiar as a schoolboy 
with his alphabet. From Horace, Homer and Virgil, 
even with his drunken lips, he could quote with per- 
fect accent whole chapters. With the finest literature 
of the moderns he was equally well acquainted, and 
was familiar in a wonderful way with the literature 
of the Elizabethan age. This was his delight. He 
knew Bacon by heart, and from Shakespeare he could 
recite whole plays. It was not the parrot-like recita- 
tion one sometimes listens to, as a mere feat of mem- 
ory, but a discriminating recital in which there was 
critical knowledge, love of beauty and the enticement 
of wisdom. 

He was to us young students a marvel, and when- 
ever we found that he had come we hunted him up, 
lured him to some quiet place, and by a few questions 
set in motion his great mind, and drew out of his 
storehouse learning beyond value and wisdom without 
price. 

What was the mystery of this man's life — what 
untoward fate drove him from the great world of 
achievement where greatness was possible for such 
as he, to dwell in solitude in the loneliness of the hills, 
remote from his kind, by the far off sea? We often 
wondered whether the wound he sought to hide in the 
silence of the wilderness was a wound of mind or 
heart; what sorrow he sought to forget in the solace 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 391 

of a drunken debauch. There are times when we are 
stunned by the mystery of Hfe, by the weirdness of 
existence, the absolute inability to understand our 
own lives, and, therefore, blind when we endeavor 
to unravel the mystery of others. How often we are 
like Tennyson when he wrote that he was "like an 
infant crying in the night, like an infant crying for the 
light, and with no language but a cry."' 

We were sitting one day by the shore of Lake 
Union, then part of a virgin wilderness, now one of 
the beautiful scenes- that add to the attractions of 
Seattle. Its surface matched the sky above. Its deeps 
mirrored the great trees upon its banks. It was a 
favorite retreat of ours, for the silence and the beauty 
had the power to take from us the steady yearning that 
we had for the sunlight of California, which in our 
boyhood seemed to have worked into our blood. We 
had been in Seattle during the winter, and the con- 
stant cloud and drip had become weariness. A foot- 
fall near us disturbed our reflections, and looking up 
we saw before us the tall form of a man, not exactly 
in rags but near enough for us to say truthfully that 
he was exceedingly shabby. He was about forty years 
of age, and as perfect a specimen of the tribe of un- 
kept as we had ever seen. There must have been in- 
quiry in our eyes, for he spoke in a tone of apology 
and said, after a pleasant salutation and a remark 
upon the beauty of the scene. "I live back here in the 
woods several miles, and I am making my monthly 
trip to town for supplies and papers." The voice 
was finely modulated, even musical, and we looked 
at him more closely, for there was in the voice that 



392 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

peculiar quality that proclaims the gentleman. We 
knew by that first utterance that we were again to 
have an experience with what the world calls the 
"abnormal human" — a man with a past, another 
recluse or derelict — and we talked with him for an 
interesting half hour. He told us that he lived alone 
on a pre-emption claim which he had cut out of the 
forest, near the shores of the Sound, that he had so 
lived for several years, that he raised cattle and read 
books; that after his graduation from a noted Amer- 
ican college, as we now remember it, he had drifted 
out west until he could drift no farther, for he was 
against the western edge of the continent. 

There was about him a modest dignity that im- 
prest us despite his untidiness and great careless- 
ness of appearance. Unconscious of his appearance, 
he seemed to carry himself with the ease of one who 
had been to the manner born and used to the refine- 
ment of the very best social life, and so it afterwards 
appeared. He gave us a kind invitation to visit him 
at his "clearing," as he called it, which we promised 
to do on some other day, for we had become anxious 
to know more of a man marked as he was with all 
the evidences of culture, breeding and scholarship. 
Making us a courtly bow, he went on his way through 
the woods toward the town. 

We made inquiry of these whom we had reason to 
believe knew something about him, and found that 
he was well known of, but not well known, — that he 
was known as "The Hermit," that he was a secretive 
man and hard of approach and resentell intrusions of 
uninvited persons upon liis solitude, for he lived in 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 393 

solitude absolutely, as there were no horizons to his 
home except the rim of the forest, from which he had 
with infinite toil and patience carved out, without aid, 
a few acres which he had sown to grasses and upon 
which he raised his cattle. His only possible outlook 
was upward to the sky, and this outlook was not con- 
tinuous, for during many months of the year the sky 
was hidden by cloud and mist. He was regarded by 
those who knew him as sane and sound of mind, tho 
he puzzled them by his eccentricities. He had the 
fixt reputation of a man who attended to his own 
affairs and expected those about him to attend to 
theirs. His monthly invasion of the little village, 
as Seattle was then, had made him familiar to the 
people, altho he went about his affairs silent and 
reserved and unobtrusive. He communicated only 
with those with whom he had business which, when 
accomplished, left no reason for a long stay in the 
town. At first he had been an object of suspicion. 
This, however, finally yielded to the better feeling of 
curiosity only, and as his condition was steady and 
sober, he acquired slowly a reputation of being a good 
man. No saloon door ever opened to welcome him; 
the store and the postofifice were the only places he 
ever entered, and in these his stay was short. The 
regularity of his visits gradually wore out any espe- 
cial interest on the part of the little community, and 
at the time we saw him, he was allowed to come and 
go without com.ment. He had gravitated to his place 
and was regarded as a member of the population, as 
"The Hermit" only. He was too reserved for ap- 
proach and inquiry, and during all the years he had 



394 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

taken no man into his confidence nor volunteered any 
information. He had to the highest degree the rarest 
of human qualities, that of living continuously within 
himself. This faculty is the genius of great minds, 
altho it may be, forsooth, that it is a temporarily ac- 
quired capacity of the vicious who dread to open their 
lips for fear that some unknown vice or crime, from 
the punishment of which they are in hiding, may lead 
to discovery. These outcasts, however, are silent only 
when among their betters, for when in company of 
their own kind as to offense and character they are as 
garrulous as an old maid at a sewing circle. 

Knowing this much of this lone denizen of the 
woods, we were curious to meet him on his own 
ground, and before many days found the trail leading 
through the shadow of deep woods and reached his 
clearing, where we spent half a day in pleasant talk. 
He lived in a rude :hack, built with his own hands, in 
the center of a little opening in the woods. We can 
not say that we were charmed with its interior. We 
were his guest, and (ordinarily) our lips would be 
dumb upon what we write here, were it possible that 
he would ever see or hear of what is written. Of 
this there is no danger, for that was years ago, and 
he was then in middle age, and doubtless now "after 
life's fitful fever he sleeps well." 

Disorder was everywhere; poverty manifest in the 
meager equipments for Hving, added to which was ac- 
cumulated dirt. The walls were dingy, the floor un- 
swept, and the dust of years clung to everything. 
It was painful to think that a human being, much less 
a cultured scholar, evidentlv used in former vears 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 395 

to all the elegance of refined life, would under any 
circumstances be content for a single day to abide in 
such squalor; it was not mere disorder, it was dirt. 
His cattle sheds by contrast were preferable as a 
habitation. 

There was, however, one redeeming feature, and 
that was his library, to which it was evident he 
gave his only care, for here we found cleanliness, 
which was proof conclusive that he knew full well 
what it was to be clean. From the shelves he took 
down one after the other, rare volumes of the classics, 
Greek and Latin lore, Homer, Virgil, Horace. Hero- 
dotus. Dante, Cicero, Caesar, Plato and others of the 
glorious company of ancient scholars, poets and ora- 
tors. They were not exhibition volumes, for each 
bore the marks of frequent use. Modern literature 
was as w^ell represented, for we found Shakespeare, 
Dryden, Wordsworth, Schiller, Goethe, Bacon. Addi- 
son, Sterne, Scott, Longfellow, Bryant and Whittier, 
and other works of the great, modern world. We 
searched for a seat where we could sit down without 
too close contact with the dirt, and listened for several 
hours to this strange recluse of the northern woods as 
he read from many of those to him sacred, volumes. 
He loved his books with a fervid love. They were 
the only sweetness in his otherwise desolate life. He 
did not read as one reads familiar things, passionless, 
careful only to give expression to words and to attend 
to the proper placing of commas, semicolons and peri- 
ods, but as one stirred deeply by the lofty thought 
and for the beauty of the wisdom unexcelled. He 
seemed to be lifted for the time out of the dim woods 



396 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

and the squalid shack, to live in academic shades of 
Greece and Rome, to be again within the shadows of 
Harvard, as one by some magic touch transferred. 

It was a great afternoon for us, and to it he was not 
indifferent, for he delighted to exhibit his treasures to 
those who with him had the taste and capacity to 
enjoy the beauty of the great writers. We wondered 
more and more, until we were confused in the tangle 
of our imagination, as to what secret lay in the mind 
and heart of this strange being, gifted with rare 
mentality, possessed of an exquisite literary taste, and 
eloquent of speech. We dared not ask, for his per- 
sonality was too fine to wound with a careless ques- 
tion. We felt that if he did not speak, it was because 
he did not care to open the door of his life to the 
vision of a stranger. Whatever it was, it was a secret 
between him and his Maker. 

The lowering sun warned us of the miles that lay 
between us and Seattle, and the trail running through 
dim woods darkly shadowed, and we were compelled 
to leave him to his loneliness as it seemed to us, tho 
he may not have been lonely, for who can probe into 
another's spirit when he seems so often a stranger 
to his own. As he walked with us to the edge of the 
little opening, he pointed out to us his cattle, his only 
living associates. He loved them and called them 
each by name, and as he did, they came up to him 
for a caress. They were fine things, and as we noted 
his caress and the light in the eyes of those dumb 
beasts, as they felt the touch of his gentle fingers, we 
felt that a man who could be so loving to a dumb 
animal and whom the dumb animals so loved, had 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 397 

down deep in the ''holy of hoHes" of his heart some- 
where an unspoken love for the human kind — a force 
which was the mainspring of his hfe. Was this the 
sokition of his Hfe? He told us that in order that 
he might not forget the use of language, he every 
day recited to his herd poems, orations and essays, and 
that it was not always the good luck of a public 
speaker to have so respectful and attentive an audi- 
ence, and that they had become so used to the habit 
that they looked for it as much as they did for their 
food. As we reached the trail, we gave him our hand 
in a long, farewell shake. We were sad at the leaving, 
for we felt that we were bidding him an eternal fare- 
well, and so it proved, for we never saw him again. 
There were in his eyes tears of sadness as we said, 
"Good-by and God bless you." 

Just before a turn in the trail shut out our view of 
him, we turned and waved again our good-by, and 
there still he stood as we had left him, a silent, pathetic 
figure, something to us awful, for he was in the atti- 
tude of the moment fit to have been the model of some 
great sculptor who wished to make immortal the figure 
of a man in despair. It may be and let us hope that 
we were mistaken, had misunderstood him and his 
life, that he was wise in a larger w'isdom than we, that 
he had ascended to heights beyond our vision, and 
that out of fountains of sweet waters he drew daily 
refreshment of which we did not know — that from the 
vanities of life he had escaped like Lot from Sodom, 
into the salvation of the forest — that like the old 
prophet he heard the voice of angels and had visions 
of unutterable splendor; that his solace was not that 



398 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

of modern days, or in his dwelling-place, but that he 
found his peace in companionship with Socrates and 
Plato, with Dante and Paul and Christ, and that he 
was unconscious in loneHness in his poor shack. 

At Lone Pine, under the shadows of Whitney, we 
found another son of silence, who had cast in his lot 
with strangers. We knew of him better than we 
knew him, for he was absolutely a recluse, holding 
no communication with any one except when he was 
called to minister to the people about him, for he was 
a physician of great skill. We were at the time en- 
gaged in work that was exacting and exhausting, and 
as is often the case overdid and fell into a strained 
condition that required medicine, and we called upon 
the little "French Doctor," for that, so far as we 
knew, was his only name. We found him housed in 
a little adobe dwelling, situated in the center of about 
half an acre of garden, just at the edge of the little 
town. The garden was enclosed by a high fence that 
shut it out from the view of the passer sby. He seemed 
averse to being intruded upon, even by the eye of a 
stranger. 

At the time we speak of, we called at the 
house, letting ourselves into the garden through a 
high gate, seldom opened. We found within the en- 
closure a rare collection of plants and flowers, prop- 
erly cared for, attended to by one who loved them 
and who knew their nature well enough to preserve 
their life and beauty against the diversity of a climate 
which might have destroyed them except for this 
extreme care, for it was a climate subject to sudden 
and biting frosts, even in the springtime and early 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 399 

summer, and to burning heat and high winds. Here, 
engrossed, we found the little Frenchman, directing 
his little irrigating stream about the roots of his trees 
and plants. As he looked up, there was a little of 
defiance and much question in his face. He had the 
air of one who was disturbed by another presence. 
We noticed this, and apologized by a statement that 
we were ailing and needed his skill. This statement 
at once softened him, and the kind-hearted physician 
took the place of the hostile man. While we stood 
there in the sunshine, we had time to take a mental 
picture of him. He was slight of frame, in fact deli- 
cate ; age had laid its hand upon him and he was just 
a little bent, but the face was that of a man highly 
organized, with the peculiar nervousness of refined 
Frenchmen. He had the mannerisms of tTie Parisian 
in speech, accent and gesture. He spoke English with 
the accent of a scholar familiar with the idioms of the 
language, retaining, however, the cunning of the 
tongue, which makes it impossible for a Frenchman 
to hide his nativity. 

When after a time he had discovered that we were 
a httle different from, those who usually called for 
his services, he gradually relaxed his reserve and 
became talkative. He invited us into the house, asked 
us to sit down, and after diagnosing our trouble and 
prescribing for it, he became a pleasant host, soon 
giving us evidence that our visit was a pleasant thing 
to him. He lived alone, performed all of his house- 
hold work and with his own hands attended to every 
want. This was a matter of little toil, for it was ap- 
parent that he was of simple tastes and habits. We 



400 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

were again in the household of a unique character, 
another human with some hidden history, some heart 
secret, that had cut him off from his fellows and sent 
him from bonny France and its brilliant capital to 
the uttermost parts of the world, to hide himself 
among strangers in a strange land. His little home 
was the retreat of a scholar, for scattered about in 
the confusion to be expected in a household where 
woman's care was absent, were piles of books, pro- 
fessional and miscellaneous papers, and magazines 
from the centers of the world. There was an orderly 
disorder apparent everywhere and in everything, and 
while here and there in the corners of the room the 
webs of spiders, long undisturbed, hung like a fisher- 
man's net, there was about all a careless cleanliness. 
All our talk was impersonal, for his manner was still 
distant, as if to warn us that inquiry of a personal 
nature would make us immediately persona non grata. 
We talked of trees and flowers, medicine and books, 
of his professional relations to the little community, 
but never a word that could be twisted into an inquiry 
of the cause of his living alone in the desert. There 
was something very gentle, something charming about 
the little man, when he thawed out. He had no dis- 
content, no marks of regret, no trace in face or eye of 
some brooding that disturbed his days or made darker 
than with physical darkness the hours of the night. 
His face was that of one who, if he had suffered 
crucifixion, had been able to hide its wounds. He 
was evidently a gifted man, though he had a small 
field within which to practise his profession or to use 
his knowledge. He laid his finger quickly upon the 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 401 

nerves that were disquieted in us, and gave them im- 
mediate relief. One visit was sufficient. While he 
seemed content, we somehow wondered whether there 
were not hours when his thoughts turned to Paris 
again; when imagination wooed him back to her 
brilliance and gaieties: whether in the silence of the 
nights, when sleep deserted him, as it does at times all 
men, he did not hear the shout of gay voices, the strain 
of bewitching music; see again the lights of crowded 
streets ; whether at times the silence of the desert made 
him hunger for life again, restless as memory drew 
her picture of days when hope was buoyant and ambi- 
tion a flame. But why wonder? What he thought 
or hoped or dreamed was a closed book, sacred from 
the touch of all the world. 

We inquired about him and found from one of the 
local historians that he had, years before, drifted into 
the town; that he was a French physician; that, con- 
sulting no one, he quietly secured the half acre that 
became his permanent home, and there had lived with- 
out companionship, asking no favor, giving his serv- 
ices to those unable to pay, and even leaving his com- 
pensation, when others could pay, to their own 
generosity; that he was as aloof in all but mere 
physical presence as if he lived in Mars. 

From the three parallel lives, found so widely sepa- 
rated by time and space, we have drawn no satis- 
fying conclusions, except that while an ordinary man 
goes to pieces under slight heart strains, the strong 
man's mind remains sane under terrible burdens. The 
g^eat heart may, like a t)amascus blade, be bent double, 
but can not be broken. 



402 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Perhaps the most unique of all of these strange 
pieces of human flotsam and jetsam was an unkept, 
blear-eyed tramp, whose bloated face and watery 
eyes were the evidences of his drunken condition, 
and who one afternoon shambled into the Black 
schoolhouse situated in the sunny Suisun Val- 
ley where, as a mere lad I was the teacher 
of the district country school. Markham, the 
poet, was there as a pupil at the time, al- 
though we doubt if he will remember the time or the 
man. The man's general appearance made him an un- 
desirable visitor to a school, and I asked him why 
he had, uninvited, assumed that he was acceptable to 
us. He did not seem surprised or resentful, and at 
once replied that he knew of many things that might 
interest the scholars and if I would allow him to go 
to the blackboard, he would exhibit some of his ac- 
complishments. The sublime assurance of the man 
was refreshing and made me consent, for I felt that 
at any rate he could not harm us, and whatever he did, 
would be a diversion from the humdrum of daily 
school life. He went to the blackboard and asked 
that one of the oldest scholars give to him a sum in 
addition, and to make the sum as intricate as he 
pleased. At this, one of the scholars called out sums, 
one after the other, mounting into the hundreds of 
thousands, A long list of these was called out until 
the blackboard was full from top to bottom. With a 
wave of the hand up the column, in a second the tramp 
called out the answer, which we found, after some- 
what laborious calculation and casting up of the 
columns, was correct. The same feat he demonstrated 



SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 403 

with fractions, with subtraction and division. He 
was a past master in the art of rapid calculation. Hav- 
ing for half an hour thus amused us and himself, he 
courteously withdrew and shambled ofif down the road, 
another example of a misdirected life, a man home- 
less, friendless and purposeless. 

While in Death Valley we heard of, but did not 
see, a man who for forty years had existed in a rude 
cabin in the hot hills of this eastern rim — existed, 
yes, for such a life could not be "living." To live 
means to aspire, to think, to act, to recognize the re- 
lations of one being to another. This can not be 
done by one whose days and nights are measured by 
nothing but a revolution of the earth on its axis, by 
the rising and setting of the sun. If the environment 
of continuous darkness blinds the mole, and makes eye- 
less the fishes of Mammoth Cave, forty years of seclu- 
sion surely must draw a cataract across the mental 
vision of a man whose life is passed almost in total 
silence. This was a moral necessity, for were it 
otherwise, there would some day come a depression, 
a terrible revolt against the silent days, and in its 
delirium the mind would in wild frenzy put out its 
own light or grope through its gloom to some outlet 
from intolerable solitude. We can not mock the spirit 
forever and deny to it its birthright, and remain nor- 
mally human. 



Chapter XXII 

THREE HEROES— AN INDIAN, A WHITE 
MAN AND A NEGRO 

/TpHE doctrine of the natural depravity of man is 
■'' often overthrown by some splendid exhibition 
of qualities in the individual that lifts him into some- 
thing fine — some act that quickens our pulses. We 
are often compelled by the logic of the heart to con- 
clude that ex cathedra deductions of the churchmen 
are imperfect measurements of the spirit. 

The schoolman may analyze motive and passion, — 
in fact all the emotions that lie at the base of 
human character, and arrive at conclusions that estab- 
lish to his satisfaction formulas by which he measures 
the moral fibers of the average human life, but the 
schoolman fails in emergency and his rules go to 
pieces in the storm of experience. No man can be 
measured except by what he can do — what he has 
done. His aspiration and dream are fleeting as the 
summer clouds until they become fixed by action. A 
single act in hours of emergency discloses weakness 
or strength, and be that act heroic or mean, it perma- 
nently fixes moral status. The Master knew this when 
He taught the multitudes "you shall know them by 
their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs 

404 



THREE HEROES 405 

of thistles?" If a man's action be mean, men there- 
after may be deceived in him by the glamuor of his 
repute, but the man himself forever knows what he 
is, and there are two in the universe to whom he 
stands naked — himself and God. 

If we have in these pages dwelt long in the desert 
and among the dwellers therein, it is because we have 
never been free from the fascination that possest 
us while we were part of it and them. We feel that 
to lose the memory of them would be a spiritual loss 
and leave a vacuum in our moral make-up. 

The chill of an autumn morning at Big Pine, a 
little village in Owens River Valley, drove us to the 
warmth of a grateful fire in a little hotel. We had 
found an old magazine and were engrossed in its 
pages when an Indian came in with an armful of wood 
which he threw down just at our back. We were 
startled for the moment and looked up and met one 
of the surprises of our life. Before us stood a majestic 
man. His face had in it the strength and beauty of 
a great spirit ; he towered over six feet in the splendid 
proportions of a Greek statue. He smiled his apology 
for disturbing us, and a "kingly condescension graced 
his lips." We felt as one who had seen a vision. We 
had seen thousands of Indians, fine models of natural 
men and had often from the artist's standpoint ad- 
mired and wondered at their perfection, but never 
such as he who stood before us. As he Avent out, we 
turned to a man who sat by the fire and asked him 
"who is that man?" He seemed surprised and said, 
"Why, don't you know him?" "That is Joe Bowers, 
chief of the Inyo Piutes," and then with the enthu- 



4o6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

siasm of his respect for the noble Indian, gave us the 
story of his character and career. It is no fairy story, 
altho it seemed as unreal. It was the story of a 
humane, heroic man worthy to be made immortal. 
His tribal name we do not know — we never knew. 

The opportunity to become familiar with such a 
man, to learn from him the rareness and beauty of 
a life begun in an Indian cradle, educated by its own 
supreme quality, was not to be lost, and in after days 
Joe Bowers and we became friends, not friends as 
the world understands it, but friends in its noblest 
sense — followed by a companionship that had in it 
an ever increasing charm. He grew, as the days 
passed, it seemed, taller, statelier, more serene and 
majestic. We found that to be counted worthy to 
be his friend was to hold a certificate of good 
character. 

Physically he was without flaw, tho at the time we 
first met him, age had begun its disintegrating work, 
and he had lost some of the superb energy of his 
earlier manhood. He was still, however, a magnifi- 
cent human shape. Six feet in height, he stood in 
repose the perfection of grace and strength. About 
him was something that always compelled atten- 
tion and awakened admiration. Into him had en- 
tered the majesty of the heights that environed his 
youth, ever present about him as he grew to man- 
hood. He had been nourished by the silence of lonely 
places, enriched by the heavens and the earth. The 
voices of streams and storms; the coo of birds; the 
scream of the eagle in the sky were utterances of the 
oracles whose meaning he may not have always ac- 



THREE HEROES 407 

curately interpreted, but he knew by the response of 
his own nature that they were as "the voice of one 
crying in the wilderness." 

There was an impressive dignity in the poise of 
his head firmly set upon massive shoulders. Authority 
and power were in this poise, and few men would be 
reckless enough to treat him with disrespect, for he. 
compelled homage by his mere presence. No one 
ever approached him more than once with condescen- 
sion, for to such he was the very spirit of unspoken 
scorn. To gracious demeanor and word he was open 
and sweet. The summer sun never made the eastern 
heavens more radiant than did kindly words make 
this brave and rugged face — a face wherein spiritual- 
ity had set its lines of power and traced a network 
for the play of delicate emotions. It was the face 
of one born for empire, the widest empire possible to 
the limitations of his life. In other places and times 
he would have been a ruler of a nation rather than 
chief of an untutored tribe. It was after all in the 
deeps of his eyes that one caught a glimpse of the 
rarely endowed spirit that made him the master of 
situations perilous to himself as well as to others. 
They were eyes "to threaten and command," at times 
like the heavens, full of beauty, glorious with the 
lights of the dawn and the shadows of the sunset, 
cloudless and serene, and then again full of thunder 
and lightening and storm. He feared nothing but dis- 
honor, loved nothing but things noble. His chief 
qualities were a power to command, courage, and 
beneficence. 

His career as chief in desperate times of conflict 



4o8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

with the whites will demonstrate all we have written, 
and a recital of his acts during these desperate times 
marks him as one of the most glorious examples of 
the perfect man — a Christian by instinct, profoundly 
religious without instruction, a man of peace in the 
midst of war, one of the few upon whom Nature had 
conferred the patent of a noble. 

It is but fair to say that doubtless he was greatly 
indebted to tribal virtues. A close study of the Piutes 
disclosed to us that when unsullied by the vices of 
civilization they were, in the mass, governed by 
noble racial instincts. As a tribe they were re- 
markable for two great virtues — honesty in the man 
and chastity in the woman. Their laws were as 
stern as those of Judeans. In the warp and woof 
of these great qualities, it is not a matter of won- 
der that there should be woven now and then a 
character of supreme grandeur, a focalization of 
spiritual force, clear-eyed enough to see truth that 
was universal, as operative in the solitudes of Inyo 
as under the dome of St. Peter. The uplift of tribal 
virtues must at some time and place produce excep- 
tional characters. If Judean philosophy found speech 
in Isaiah and David, why should not the moral genius 
of the Piute live in Bowers, individualized and illumi- 
nated. 

The pages of history are made enticing by many 
a story of human action along the lines of endeavor, 
stories that thrill, comfort and inspire us when we 
become sore and tired with the endless strife of the 
selfish. They lift us above the sloughs of despondency, 
when we are nearly suffocated and out of moral 



THREE HEROES 409 

breath. Such is the story of Joe Bowers' humane 
conduct during- the Indian War of 1856. The vast 
territory lying south of the Sierras in CaHfornia was 
Indian territory under the protection of two com- 
panies of United States soldiers, at Fort Independence, 
near the present town of Independence. The steady 
encroachments of the whites made the Piutes rest- 
less, and the constant brooding over foreign occupa- 
tion ripened into a fighting mood. It was the old 
story. As the strain became more tense, individuals 
first protested to their chief, and then the tribe was 
aroused to council and war-councils were held with 
all the mysticism invariably a part of such councils. 
At these Bowers presided with authority, which was a 
part of his being. He had taken accurate account of 
conditions, recognized the sure results to his tribe of 
the incoming of the whites ; knew that possession and 
domain would pass out of the hands of his people, 
and that slowly but surely the time was coming when 
they would "read their doom in the setting sun," But 
with the largeness of his wisdom, he also knew that 
resistence to the inevitable was vain. He had talked 
with the Commander at the Fort for the purpose of 
ascertaining the military resources of the United 
States in case of war, and armed with knowledge, 
quickened by his own intuition, he knew that protest 
was hopeless, — that slaughter of his tribe must re- 
sult, and that however long the contest might be 
waged, and with whatever first victories to his people, 
that ultimately they would be crusht and subjugated. 
His great heart was sorely torn and disquieted, but 
he saw his way clearly as all supreme souls do, and 



4IO LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

he acted at his own personal peril for what he knew 
to be the best for those who looked to him for guid- 
ance. The Indians were now at a fever heat, and a 
final council was called to declare for war or peace. 

It was a great concourse of subchiefs, medicine 
men and representatives of the old and young of the 
tribe. It had a peace party headed by Bowers, and 
a war party headed by a fiery young subchief, second 
in command to Bowers. For days the discussion went 
on. Bowers told them that the handful of soldiers 
at the Fort were but a part of a great army like them 
beyond the mountains, where thousands and thou- 
sands of white men had had like contests, and that 
there had always been but one result — the subjugation 
of resisting tribes, and that they could not escape a 
like fate in case of war. Into the scale for peace he 
threw all his tremendous influence. For them he 
had been until now Father and Guide. Never before 
had his wisdom and justice been questioned. The 
final vote was taken and it was for war. Then Bowers 
rose to the height of majestic action. He told them 
that he would not fight and that if they went to war, 
they must find a new chief and leader. Had he been 
an ordinary man, this would have been his death 
sentence, for it was the law of the tribe that if a 
chief refused to fight when his people called for war, 
he forfeited his life. He looked serenely into the face 
of fate, but conquered since the law was waived. He 
was retired as chief only during the war. and the 
hot-headed subchief was chosen as warchief. 

Bowers' moral grandeur now was exhibited, in 
that while his people were fighting the whites, he 



THREE HEROES 411 

went about saving their lives. To lonely miners' 
cabins in far-off canyons he went, warning the miners 
to flee to the fort. He was asked by them what they 
should do with their possessions, and he said, "Leave 
them as they are, I will protect them, and when the 
war is over, come back and you will find all as you 
leave them." At the door of each cabin he planted 
a long, slender reed upon which was fixed some mystic 
symbol. This was notice to the Indians that the cabin 
and all about it were under his protection. Many a 
miner, whose life would have been sacrificed, was 
thus saved. 

At one point on the mesas, that lay about the base 
of Waucoba Mountain, sixty miles from the fort, 
over a range of lofty mountains, two men had their 
camp where they were herding over two hundred head 
of cattle, fattening upon the white sage abundant 
there. These he warned to flee to the fort, telling 
them to leave their cattle to him, and that they would 
be safe. Grateful for their lives thus saved, the men 
told Bowers that his people during the winter might 
become hungry, and that for his services, he was at 
liberty to kill as many of the cattle as he chose. This 
offer was accepted. The same mystic symbol of his 
protection and authority was posted at this camp; 
all was saved; strange as it may seem, when the war 
was over, miners and cattlemen returned to find all 
as they had left it, except the cattlemen found a 
pile of heads, twenty in number, carefully preserved 
as evidence of the number the Indians had killed and 
eaten. As the men examined these heads, they found 
that in every instance they were of inferior cattle, 



412 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

and they gaid to Bowers, "Why, Joe, you killed only 
the poorest of the cattle. Why didn't you pick out 
better ones?" With a winning smile, so common to 
him, he replied, "Oh, maybe so, poor steer plenty 
good for Injun." This reply had in it neither music 
nor rhetoric, yet one would hunt in vain the literature 
of all times and ages to find words into which had 
been breathed more of the fine beauty of a great soul. 
Thus during the entire war, waged with the savagery 
of Indians, without mercy or quarter, did Bowers 
pass from point to point of danger, saving the lives 
and property of the enemies of his tribe, but while 
his people knew of all that he did, they lifted no hand 
against him. Let no man say in the presence of such 
moral strength that the wild man of the earth's waste 
places "is of the earth earthy." 

When the war ended, Bowers, having been justi- 
fied for his actions, rose again, by the grandeur of 
his character, to his chieftainship, never thereafter to 
be challenged. We remember the last time we saw 
him on a lonely trail crossing the desert mountain, be- 
tween California and Nevada. We were both alone 
and were surprised to see each other, and I said, 
"Where are you going. Bowers?" He replied, "Oh, 
some bad man make trouble between Piutes and I go 
fix him." It seems to us always afterward that we 
were glad of our last view of him as he was thus on 
a mission of mercy. 

In consideration of his services, the Government at 
the close of the war placed him upon the pay-roll of 
the army in some subordinate office, — a sinecure suffi- 
cient to sustain him in con -fort in his declining years. 



THREE HEROES 413 

If he had been an Anglo-Saxon, in some center field 
of the world, he would have been part of some noble 
chapters of history. 

In a solitary miner's cabin on the eastern slope of 
the White mountains, we found living in the quiet of 
a remote, secluded life, two men nearer to David and 
Jonathan in the beauty of their friendship, than any 
two we have ever met. One of these was W. S. 
Greenly, whose qualities of mind and heart were 
charged with that magnetism which flows from a great 
purity of life. He was at once a hero and a martyr, 
for, with an equipment of power large enough to have 
made him a dominant figure in commercial, political 
and social life, he lived beyond his opportunity be- 
cause he loved, with a love passing that of woman, 
the man who was his companion in loneliness. Green- 
ly is dead. This we learned not long ago when 
we wrote hoping to find him still adorning our com- 
mon human nature with the nobility and the sweet- 
ness that made our acquaintance with him a fruitful 
memory. No braver, kindlier heart ever beat within 
a human bosom. He was a strong man, with all the 
modest gentleness of a woman, and in him it was 
verified that "the bravest are the tenderest." Those 
who knew him honored him with great honor, and 
to be his friend was a choice thing. The serenity of 
his temper was as unvarying as the seasons. Im- 
pulse had no part in his mental action. He was not 
slow to action, nor hurried in speech. Benevolence 
was his basic quality. His days had not always been 
full of peace, nor his life without stirring events, 
which marked him as a man for great emergencies. 



414 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Between him and Bowers, the Piute Chief, there ex- 
isted a warm friendship, as each recognized in the 
other a man-. Ordinarily, there existed reasons why 
they should have been enemies, for Greenly was the 
man who led the force that finally defeated the Piutes 
and destroyed them, broke their war spirit and ended 
forever their struggles against the supremacy of the 
whites. 

At the time the war broke out. Greenly was a young 
man who had come into the Owens River country to 
try his fortunes. At this time the region had great 
repute for its supposed mineral wealth and had thus 
attracted many aspiring young men of great ability. 
The dream of wealth had lured them from the com- 
forts of Eastern homes, to brave the perils of the 
frontier. For a while Greenly watched the events 
of the war and as the soldiers, unused to the methods 
of the Indian warfare, suffered defeat, he became 
satisfied they were unequal to the conflict, and that 
if the whites were to be victorious, an important 
change must be made in the personnel of the 
fighters, as well as in their tactics. He, with others, 
had sought the protection of the Fort, and there 
were then gathered in the place a number of young 
men, brave and active, who chafed at confinement, 
and grew restless from the frequent defeat of the 
soldiers. Following one of these most serious de- 
feats, Greenly took up the matter with the Com- 
mander, and formulated a plan by which he, as leader, 
and his associates, as his comrades, should offer to 
the Commander of the fort their service as fight- 
ers, provided always that Greenly should direct the 



THREE HEROES 4^5 

further campaign, and that he should have supreme 
authority and the soldiers be subordinate to and 
subject to his commands. At this time the In- 
dian forces, numerous and defiant, by reason of their 
successes, had established their central camp at a point 
about half way between the Fort and Owens Lake, 
which was distant about sixteen miles. The com- 
mander at first repudiated Greenly's plan, and re- 
fused to surrender his command of his soldiers. What 
other course could be expected, for pride is ever 
greater than discretion. Greenly, however, was 
master of the situation. He knew how desperate the 
situation would be before long-, when supplies became 
exhausted, and no opportunity for replenishment, for 
the Indians held every road leading into the valley, 
and no chance existed for getting word to the outside 
world for relief. These facts, day after day, he urged 
with eloquence and persistence, until the logic of the 
desperate situation became unanswerable, and he had 
his way. 

At once he armed his little band of independent 
fighters, and inspired them with his own spirit, and 
thus equipped was ready for the field. He desired, 
however, before the execution of his plan, to give the 
Indians a final chance to retire from the conflict and 
determined to visit their camp and submit terms to their 
chiefs and fighting men, in council. Eight miles down 
the desert valley nightly the Indians held their war- 
dance — their method of keeping hot their hate and 
courage. Their fires were visible from the fort, and 
here several hundred warriors danced themselves into 
the frenzy of battle. 



4i6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

One night, unarmed, Greenly mounted his horse 
and left the fort, alone and defenseless, except as he 
was defended by his own courageous and quenchless 
spirit. He rode through the darkness into the excited 
camp, and coolly dismounting, tied his horse, entered 
the council chamber, and called for the chiefs. The 
audacity of his act compelled their respect, for the 
Indians are great worshipers of heroes. Far into the 
night he urged upon the chiefs the hopelessness of 
their case, the certainty of defeat and the consequent 
result. While they gave him respectful attention, they 
were unmoved, and he might as well have spoken to 
the dead. As the dawn began to break in the E^st, 
he mounted his horse for his return, but not 
before, as his final word, he had told the chiefs 
that he would drive them and their warriors into 
Owens Lake. On his return to the fort he or- 
ganized his men into fighting order, and, support- 
ed by the soldiers, started forth to keep his word ; 
and keep his word he did, for after desperate charges 
and almost hand to hand fighting, tlie Indians be- 
gan to fall back toward the lake. By Greenly's 
command, the squaws and papooses were allowed 
to escape into the protection of the sagebrusfi, 
where they crouched like quail, safe from the on- 
slaught. Slowly the Indians, mile after mile, were 
pressed down the valley, until before them shone 
the waters of the sullen lake. Then they remembered 
Greenly's threat, and they fought with new despera- 
tion. But as steady as the march of the sun in the 
heavens, on and on and on they were pressed until 
the shore was reached, and on into the lake. The 



THREE HEROES 417 

Indian war was over, and the dead warriors of the 
tribe floated in the sullen waters. 

The memory of this terrible day kept the peace ever 
afterwards. Greenly resigned his command, went 
about his work, a modest, retiring man, out of whom 
could be drawn the details of his achievement only 
by loving persuasion. Oh, how mean we sometimes 
feel, when we in our hours of doubt challenge the 
capacity of mere men to be almost like unto God, 
when we call them clay only and deny to them their 
divinity. 

This same war disclosed another heroic soul, a 
simple black man — a negro servant who, in an hour 
of peril, to save those whom he served, gave up his 
life, his body to mutilation and torture. 

Near the railway of the Carson and Colorado Rail- 
road, in the Valley of Owens River, one always notices, 
rising out of the level plain, a peculiar mound of 
rock, a mere volcanic puff covering not more than 
an acre of ground. Its peculiar color and situation 
always attract the attention of the traveler and upon 
inquiry he is informed by some trainman that it is 
known as "Charley's Butte." The story connected 
with it, which gave it its tragic baptism, is well known, 
and upon inquiry this is what is told : 

During one of the fiercest days of the Indian war, 
a family consisting of several men, women and chil- 
dren, were fleeing to the fort. In the party was an 
old negro servant named Charley, who had been with 
the family for years. He was a patient, faithful man, 
always recognizing the relation of a negro to the 
white man, even in his state of freedom. He was a 



4i8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

typical Southern negro, with all the loyalty peculiar 
to those who lived with and served the Southerners. 
The party were mounted upon horses, and were 
urging them to as great speed as possible, over the 
broken and rocky way towards the fort, still some 
six miles away. 

Just as they forded Owens River, a warwhoop was 
heard in the distance, and soon there rode into view a 
band of painted warriors on the war-trail. They had 
discovered the fleeing family and were riding in fury 
to cut ofif their escape. The horses of the fleeing party 
were worn with long riding, and with whip and spur 
they failed to preserve the distance between the pur- 
suers and the pursued. Charley, with a little girl 
in front of him, was riding in the rear. For several 
miles the life race was kept up, but slowly the warri- 
ors gained. At last Charley saw that unless some- 
thing heroic was done, they would be overtaken and 
slaughtered. Then it was that his soul acted, and 
he determined to sacrifice himself for their salvation. 
Slipping from the horse, he told the little girl to ride 
as fast as she could and tell those ahead to keep up 
their run for the fort and lose not a moment. The 
little girl said, "What are you going to do?" To 
which he replied, "Never mind what I am going to 
do, but you ride and do as I tell you." He knew he 
was facing an awful death at the hands of the infuri- 
ated savages, whom he was robbing of their prey. 

Armed with a rifle and two revolvers, he turned 
and faced his foes, calm and certain. His action was 
notice to the Indians that they were in for a fight, 
and before that determined negro they halted for 



THREE HEROES 419 

conference. These were golden moments, for every 
second of delay in the chase meant more chance of 
safety to those who were, as fast as jaded horses 
could run, fleeing for their lives. The conference over, 
on came the Indians, charging upon the lone and 
silent figure of defense and sacrifice. As soon as 
they were in range, Charley's rifle spoke with deadly 
aim. Again the Indians were staggered and other 
moments cut out of the distance to the fort before 
the flying refugees. The Indians charged again and 
again, but Charley's revolvers met their charge and 
thus, until his weapons were empty and he defenseless, 
he held at bay the charging demons. On their last 
charge there came no reply, and they rushed upon the 
defenseless hero, seized him, carried him to the little 
Butte across the river, and after terrible torture and 
mutilation, burned him to death. And this is why the 
little mound is to-day known as "Charley's Butte." 
As his torture was producing a wail of unutterable 
agony, the family rode into the fort and were saved. 
Find for me, if you can, in any page of heroism a 
more lofty act of self-sacrifice than this from a poor 
member of a despised race. 

We have long intended and we still intend some 
day to have a white marble shaft erected on the sum- 
mit of this sacrificial mound, carved thereon, in letters 
large enough to be read from the windows of the 
passing train, "Sacred to the Memory of Charley — a 
black man with a white soul. Killed in the Indian 
war while defending his master's family." 

"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay 
down his life for his friends." 



Chapter XXIII 

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 

r^ F course, but few places in California are purely 
^^ frontier, but there are many remote places 
where live people with a natural aversion to the centers 
of life. They love freedom. 

During the three years we spent in and about Inyo 
County, we had many experiences with these simple, 
kindly people. There was a gravitation toward friend- 
liness, and we had opportunities to render serv- 
ices in many ways to those to whom such services 
were acceptable, through distress, illness and death. 
The larger part of the territory covered by Inyo 
County is a vast domain, traversed by ranges of 
mountains, long stretches of desert sands,* awful 
wastes, without a single human habitation. It will 
be more perfectly understood how vast and desperate 
the larger part of this territory is by a glance at the 
map, where a superficial view will disclose Death 
Valley, Pannamint Valley, Saline Valley, and a large 
part of the Mojave Desert. Masses of volcanic hills 
and lonely mesas are given over to desolation, cacti 
and the sagebrush. All of this silence lies to the east 
and south of the valley of Owens River, which flows 

420 



INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 421 

through its principal fertilized valley, forty-five miles 
in length. 

In this valley, during the time of which we write, 
living in varying degrees of prosperity and comfort, 
were the twenty-five hundred people who comprised the 
registered population, and it was among these that 
we found the friendships of which we have spoken. 
The majority of these were law-abiding, and while 
there were some given to the minor dissipations that 
somehow seem inevitable to frontier communities, 
Ihey were free from violence, and while they might 
be sometimes uncouth, they were never vicious. The 
ever present public school was planted wherever suffi- 
cient children were collected to authorize a claim upon 
the public treasury. Education was attended to by 
those competent. Religion was another thing, and, 
outside of that few of spiritually-minded to be found 
everywhere, the mass in matters of the spirit went 
as they pleased. At this time there was, among all 
of these people, so far as we can now remember, but 
one minister, and he of the Methodist Church — that 
great American ecclesiastical pioneer that has during 
the evolution of the American States cared for the 
souls of the pioneer as he fought his way to dominion 
over wilderness and desert. We have penetrated to 
many forlorn and lonely outposts in the West, but 
we have never been quite beyond the voice and influ- 
ence of some devoted member of this church, who 
acted as the "sky pilot" for the rude and very often 
desperate absentees from civilization. 

The field at that time was too large for the 
work of this lone pioneer of faith, and the 



422 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

sick often went without consolation, the dying 
without consecration, and the dead were low- 
ered into their eternal resting place without 
prayer. Men may be in their strength indif- 
ferent to religion, may even sneer at the advice of 
its followers, may suspect churchmen of hypocrisy, 
but they long for some spiritual word when their be- 
loved are in peril, and the white faces of their dead 
lie before them. Few are proof against this universal 
desire, when the dread specter casts its shadow upon 
their household, and in the desolate hour they cry 
aloud for some voice to mingle with their lamenta- 
tions, and we, without profession other than that we 
believe in the Master, in the mercy of the Father, and 
in the abundant affection of the Infinite for the finite, 
were often called to bury their dead and to comfort 
the living. In these sad offices we were often brought 
face to face with desperate lives, the pathos of dis- 
solute years, the tragedy of souls that made the heart 
ache with the terror of it all. 

We shall not forget one funeral at which we offici- 
ated at Cerro Gordo. Years before, when the town 
was in the flush of its mining days, a beautiful Irish 
girl drifted into camp, then a wild, boisterous town, 
with all the dissipations and sins of such places, 
•where the making of money was the one object, and 
there was a total absence of moral restraints. The 
law operated only in a feeble way, to punish crimes 
that interfered with property or life; minor offenses 
were regarded as mere peccadillos, to be overlooked. 
The men who did the work were strong, impulsive 
animals, through whose veins ran riotous blood. They 



INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 423 

toiled like giants, and reveled after hours with a 
terrible abandon. If well paid and fed, they faced 
the daily dangers of the shaft and drift without 
thought. The present was their existence ; no thought 
of the future disturbed their days or nights. Reck- 
less, they flung defiance to fate and braved with a 
steady pulse the exigencies of life; wounded or 
sick, they sought the shelter of the rude Miners' Hos- 
pital, and without complaint took the chances of dis- 
aster. The saloon and the gambling house were their 
resorts for pleasure, and in the excitement of drink 
and chance they found the only outlet for their over- 
abundance of physical strength and passion. 

Such was the whirlpool into which this girl was 
cast. The bloom of the Irish climate was in her 
cheeks, her eyes were deep and blue as the lakes of 
her native land, and her light-hearted joyousness was 
the gift of the race from which she sprang. She 
was a typical Irish lassie, dainty, alluring and sweet. 
What chance had she in her environment, what destiny 
but to fall? And fall she did. The bloom withered, 
the daintiness faded, the happy heart grew callous. 
She kept on and on, the victim and plaything of 
men who could not remember when they had reverence 
for woman. She became the Queen of the Camp, 
and ruled in a whirl of revelry. She was known as 
"The Fenian." So long as her beauty and charm 
lasted, she found in her life such compensation as 
is possible to a woman in such an estate. The mines 
worked out, the camp was deserted, and the rush 
of active energies, that once made the mountain-top 
noisy with work and dissipation, yielded to loneli- 



424 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

ness and silence. "The Fenian" did not follow the 
drift. The terrible havoc had robbed her of every- 
thing but life, and, a drunken derelict, she stayed on, 
hopeless, drowningf memories of her pure girlhood, 
even the recollections of wild days, in drink. Here 
we found her in 1882, one of the dozen or fifteen 
people whose interests and hopes made them cling to 
the deserted camp. There was no trace of the ancient 
beauty, either of face or form; blear-eyed, shrunken, 
shriveled, she wandered like a ghost where she had 
once ruled as a queen. She lived on scant charity, 
and her wants were few, except for whisky, which 
she drank as the sands drink up a stream. One morn- 
ing a Portuguese called at our place and said, "The 
Fenian is dead and we want you to bury her." 

We were embarrassed, but remembering that 
we had always been treated with distinguished con- 
sideration by the few people who remained, we said. 
"Yes, we will do what we can;" and yet we did not 
know exactly what to do. The poor derelict, how- 
ever, had been a woman, and in her estate of death 
had become vested with a new dignity. She was 
pure again, and under this inspiration we sought for 
something to say at her grave. We sought out an 
Episcopal lady, the wife of the receiver of one of the 
mines, hoping to find a prayer book; she had none, 
but gave us a Bible, and with this in hand we wrought 
out a burial service of our own, and just as the sun 
of a perfect summer day was declining across the 
valley, over the rim of the snowy Sierras, a little 
group of sad-faced, real mourners stood about the 
grave and gave reverent - ' ' ^-^tion to this simple burial. 



INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 425 

Among these mourners were several Mexican women 
who had been the companions of the dead. The mau- 
soleums of Oriental princes were never more magnifi- 
cent than the place where we laid the dust from this 
desperate life. Four thousand feet above the valley, 
on the slopes of Cerro Gordo, we looked off to Whit- 
ney, standing supreme and beautiful in the glory of 
the setting sun ; near its base the face of Owens Lake 
was taking on the colors of the late afternoon, and the 
sky arching from the Sierras to the Inyos was soft 
and sweet with the lights of dying day. This was 
to be her environment until the resurrection. Who 
could have a resting place more magnificent? 

One of the most beautiful and pathetic human 
actions we have ever witnessed occurred when we 
told those in charge that they could fill in the 
grave. Then the weeping Mexican women, who 
had been in tears through all the service, lifted 
their faces toward the heavens, and, crossing them- 
selves, gathered up some of the clods and, with 
the passion of despair, kissed them, moistened them 
with their tears, and cast them, thus sanctified, upon 
the coffin. It was a divine act, for which we felt 
sympathy and respect, and our own eyes filled with 
tears. We felt that if any of us were disposed 
to criticize the handful of dust we were leaving 
to its eternal rest, we would be competent to do 
so only if we were without sin; and the Master's 
great rebuke to the brutal searchers after the life of 
the woman in Judea, came to us with new apprecia- 
tion — "Let him who is without sin cast the first 
stone." 



426 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

A like service we were called upon to render for 
a little Jewish mother, who had lost her babe. In her 
agony she was lifted beyond her faith, and the mother's 
heart cried out and would not be denied. She 
could not bear that her beloved should be laid away 
forever without some voice of consolation. We were 
twenty miles away, and a courier was sent to us 
asking if we would help. It was a strange situation, 
more embarrassing than before, for what could we, 
a Gentile, say over a Jewish babe that should be 
inoffensive to the differentiated faith. There comes, 
however, to the willing heart, in great human exigen- 
cies, a way, and turning to Isaiah, Job and David, we 
soon found a ritual sufficient in beauty of phrase and 
context to comfort the heart of the suffering mother, 
laying away her beloved without the services of her 
own faith. It did comfort the little mother, for with 
grateful tears she thanked us again and again. Per- 
haps nothing could have more strongly illustrated the 
near relations of human beings and the kinship of the 
religions of Jew and Gentile, than our ability, out of 
the Old Testament, common to both, to find words 
of faith, hope and comfort of authority and accept- 
ance. This simple service was to us a liberal educa- 
tion, for often since we have found our way into the 
synagogue to join in its services and felt in them 
an uplift to heights where the Jewish prophets, seers 
and singers, ages ago, illuminated the centuries, as 
they do now, with a spiritual energy that is among 
the best gifts to mankind everywhere. 

Many times afterwards we performed such sad 
offices and through them came very near to the hearts 



INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 427 

of many worthy people. We were called also to 
sick beds to watch with those sick unfo death, lonely 
men who, far away from home, in the desert, were 
making their last stand against the inevitable. There 
was something inexpressibly terrible in these sad and 
desperate sick rooms, and the hardest heart could not 
avoid a throbbing ache. These were cases where 
penniless miners were making a hopeless struggle for 
a few days more of life; men who lay on rude beds 
in habitations without comfort, looking hour after 
hour into the face of death. If these awful hours made 
them afraid, none knew, for no word of dread passed 
lips slowly losing their power of speech. They were 
among the heroes, whose courage is unswerving, who, 
in the silence of their own spirits, held their peace. 
The battlefields of the world furnish no heroism 
greater than this. 

Two of these cases we recall, that tested our capac- 
ity to endure. One was an old Cornish miner, who 
died at Lone Pine. For years he had worked in the 
mines, a faithful laborer, earning his daily wages 
honestly. Age laid its hand upon his energies and 
the White Plague seized him as a victim. Slowly he 
drifted toward the eternal shore, homeless and alone. 
He had been like all of his kind, improvident, — a 
firm believer in the doctrines : "Take no thought for 
the morrow, what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink ;" 
and "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," and 
in the last extremity was penniless. There is a free- 
masonry among the miners, an unwritten law, a 
charity that looks after distrest and disabled mem- 
bers of their craft. This is particularly true of the 



428 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Cornish miner, and so the poor dying fellow had a 
place where he could fight out the great contest be- 
tween life and death, and at last died in peace. We 
all took our turns as watchers, when it became neces- 
sary, and for several months rough but kindly hands 
ministered to all his wants. There was an absence 
of woman's tender ministrations and sympathy, but 
we gave him of our best and he was satisfied. When 
he died, we went out upon the streets of the little 
town, and in half a day by cheerful contributions 
raised one hundred and thirty-five dollars for his 
burial, and we gave him, for that place, a royal inter- 
ment Almost the entire population followed his body 
to the little cemetery, and if the spirits of the dead 
are conscious still of the things of this life, he must 
have felt the reverent mood of those who buried him. 
The other was a sadder case. One day, at Inde- 
pendence, the keeper of a little hotel came to us and 
said, "There is a young man at my place very sick, 
and some one ought to see him." We went imme- 
diately with him, and as we entered the room saw a 
splendid specimen of a young American, who in health 
would have been a giant. He was a stranger who 
had come to town a day or so before — from where he 
did not say. His name he did not give; he was in- 
deed a "stranger in a strange land." As we looked 
at him, we saw that he was in extremis. Already he 
was beyond speech. The failing heart was giving to 
his cheek and brow an unearthly pallor, and out of 
his eyes was swiftly fading the light. One effort to 
hold on to life, and he was dead. Could anything 
have been more terribly pathetic — a strong man dy- 



INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 429 

ing, alone, unknown, in the very springtime of his life. 
Somewhere, it may be until now, some loving soul of 
a woman — mother, wife, or sweetheart, waits in vain 
for his return. These desperate chances of life and 
death are to be counted among the terrors of the 
frontier; the "Potter's Field" here holds many un- 
known dead. 

There were other events that made our stay in 
the county at times exciting, — one particularly. At 
one of the towns in the valley there lived a sweet girl 
of sixteen. Her father, then dead, had been an Amer- 
ican, her mother a Mexican, She lived with her 
mother, who, from subsequent events, proved un- 
worthy of her care. She was a dainty, alluring little 
damsel, of great sweetness of disposition, beloved by 
old and young alike, for she was happy-hearted, win- 
ning and attractive. A vicious vagabond Mexican, 
frequenter of saloons and houses of unclean fame, con- 
cocted a scheme with the mother to take the girl to 
Los Angeles and place her in a dance-house. Early 
one morning, a couple of excited, trembling little 
lasses called upon us at the hotel and with tears said, 
"They are stealing Lolita and are taking her to Los 
Angeles ; what can you do ?" We comforted them and 
told them we would bring her back. As we went out 
upon the street, we found the whole town in a ferment. 
We quietly spoke to a few of the leading citizens and 
undertook the task of finding and bringing the girl 
back to her friends. We knew a determined man in 
town, to whom such a task would be more than 
welcome. 

We sent for him and asked how soon he could 



430 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

find three men like himself for a swift trip and 
possibly a gun-fight, telling him the facts, and that 
the fleeing party were well along by that time on their 
way across the Mojave Desert, toward Los Angeles. 
He said he would be ready in an hour, and before that 
time four resolute men, heavily armed and riding 
animals fit for such an undertaking, rode up. We said 
to them, "We do not know how many there are in the 
fleeing party, or how desperate, and you may have 
a fight, but bring the girl back, and drive the balance 
of the party out of the county." A significant smile 
and a nod was the answer, and four determined men 
on a holy mission were riding like the wind toward 
Los Angeles. The people watched sleepless during 
the night, and until noon the next day, and then the 
suspense became painful as the hours of the afternoon 
slowly waned toward sunset. 

Just as the top of Whitney began to redden in the 
glow of sunset, down the road we saw a cloud of 
dust; excited people filled the street and waited. Soon 
four horsemen rode into view, and to the straining 
eyes there was the flutter of a woman's dress. The 
tension of thirty-six anxious hours was over, and while 
men shouted their joy. women clung to each other 
and wept. Up the little street rode the four dusty 
horsemen with Lolita. It was a happy little village, 
for its best beloved had been rescued from the jaws 
of hell. The daring riders, like all such, for "the 
bravest are the tenderest," blushed as women blessed 
them for their work. 

The report of the leader was that they rode without 
a moment's rest until they came upon the fleeing party 



INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 431 

some sixty miles away, in the Mojave Desert. With- 
out more ado they demanded the girl. She, wild with 
joy, rushed to her rescuers. The vision of four deter- 
mined men, with their guns at their saddle horns, 
overawed the cowardly abductors, and they offered no 
resistance. The rescuers mounted the girl on the 
extra horse they had brought and, warning the 
cowards to keep on to Los Angeles, rested a while 
and then turned their horses and were soon on their 
return. 

At once on the arrival of the girl, we sought out 
a near relative and gave him a letter to the District 
Attorney at Independence and sent him speeding 
away. Upon receipt of the letter, the District At- 
torney made immediate application for the appoint- 
ment of the relative as her guardian, which in due 
time was granted, and this incident was closed with 
the salvation of the beautiful child. There was no 
sadness in this incident ; it was all joy. 

In the barroom of a little hotel one night, when the 
wind, below zero, was blowing a gale from the icy 
peaks of the Sierras, we all crowded about the stove. 
Besides ourselves, there were half a dozen rude miners 
and a woman, — and such a woman ! A creature hardly 
clean enough to live in a sewer, a drunken, vile- 
mouthed, debauched, semblance of womanhood, who 
had wallowed in slime until she was the vilest of the 
vile. She had wandered for years about the country, 
a bird of prey, laying her foul talons upon whatever 
victim came her way. At the moment of which we 
write, she had crowded her way to the stove, and 
blinking out of her bleared eyes, was smoking a cigar. 



432 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

In such a crowd the topics of conversation are not 
always the cleanest, and we were often compelled to 
leave them. There was no place to go to at this 
moment, for the little barroom was a place of shelter 
from the storm. 

Some of the men, perhaps impelled by the 
presence of the woman, were prompted to tell stories 
hardly as white as snow. At last we said, "We think 
you gentlemen have forgotten something." It was 
always in that country an imperative custom to call 
everybody "gentlemen." One of them looked up in 
surprise and said, "What have we forgotten?" And 
we replied, "That there is a lady present." A rude 
laugh broke out, and one said with an oath, "Well, 
that's a joke." The woman, with a strange, pathetic, 
grateful look, glanced at us a moment, and then at 
the others, with scorn, and without a word got up 
and went out. She was gone for quite a while, and 
realizing that no human being could long survive the 
terrible cold of such a night, we felt an impulse to 
go out and look after her. We found her leaning 
against the corner of the hotel, where the wind was 
beating upon her with a deadly chill. She was crying 
as if her heart would break, sobbing as a child sobs 
with a broken in-suck when it has exhausted its 
capacity to cry. 

I said to her, "What's the matter?" She said, 
"You know what's the matter." I said, "No, I don't 
know what's the matter," and in a real woman's 
voice, out of which had died all that was coarse and 
vile, with the voice of one who had once known of 
sweet things, she said, "You called me a lady." I 



INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 433 

said to her that that was all right, but that she must 
come in to the stove or otherwise she would freeze to 
death. She came in with the marks of tears still on 
her shrunken cheek, and sat down. She was usually- 
noisy, boisterous and obtrusive, but for more than an 
hour she sat a silent, absorbed creature. Her mood 
affected the rude men, and no more offensive talk was 
heard. We often wondered what memories of the 
past were awakened, what pictures of herself, a happy, 
unsoiled child, nourished by a mother's care and love, 
what visions of her girlhood when she laughed and 
danced in the beauty of a sinless life. Is there a 
more terrible shape in the universe than a depraved 
woman ? Surely, except that her very faculty to think 
is dulled, there must be times when she will shriek 
aloud to the heavens the story of her degradation. 

It has been a comforting theory of ours that there 
is a divinity in human lives, which can be reached. It 
may lie buried beneath the debris of vicious years, 
but down deep somewhere the white light burns. Is 
not this the explanation of heroic acts performed in 
great exigencies by some whose depravity we have 
regarded as beyond repair — some sudden exhibition 
of gentleness in the brutal — the almost universal 
generosity to the suffering by unholy women? Who 
knows? Was the divine in this poor wretch touched 
by a single kind word, and did she for the moment 
become clean? Who knows? We do know that she 
was grateful, for while we never spoke to her again, 
we saw her often watching us, as we walked the street, 
following us with pathetic eyes, as if we were to her 
a vision of something that was more than human. 



434 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

If we only knew the winning power of a gentle 
word to such as these, would we so often pass them 
with cruel scorn? 

From out the waste places, when we left them 
forever, we brought with us memories of things such 
as we have written, human things that "make the 
whole world kin," and we have often, as we have re- 
called them, felt that the exterior boundaries of our 
life were widened by its intimate touch with even lives 
desperate and hopeless; we were taught also much of 
the patient endurance and heroism of lowly lives. 



Chapter XXIV 

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 

rri HE West has contributed many chapters to the 
^ history of brave men. These men were so 
nearly ahke that they constituted a type. They were 
found principally among the peace officers to whom 
was delegated the maintenance of order and law along 
the western frontier and in the great territories be- 
yond the reach of refining influences and where gath- 
ered together the outcasts and outlaws from all 
parts of the world. It requires a very brave man 
to perfectly understand the temperament of this type. 
To compel obedience to law among the lawless and 
the desperate, to whom liberty is license, is no easy 
task, and a fearless sheriff was more a power than 
the court. The vast stretch of desert, mountains and 
arid plains reaching from Texas to British Columbia 
and from the Pacific to beyond the Rocky Mountains, 
in evolving years was bloody ground, and the peace 
officers who had charge of the administration of the 
law lived on the edge of peril. The community was 
always reckless, and almost always desperate. Vigil- 
ance, patience and an unfailing courage must be on 
constant guard. The desperado had red blood, and he 
found an overflow for his moods in deadly gun-fights. 

435 



436 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Desperate situations require heroic treatment, and he 
who was responsible for good order must be ready at 
every moment to face death. All of this required 
nerves of steel; otherwise there must have come a 
break somewhere in the physical fibers, leading at last 
to a disintegration of the mind itself. 

Much has been written of the work of individual 
peace ofificers; and it would be more exciting than 
fiction, if some competent hand could gather together 
the plain facts connected with the administration of 
law in the great reaches of the West in the days when 
the outlaw dominated. The early California days were 
not free of disorder, violence and disregard of law. 
Vicious men defied the rights of their fellows and 
flung defiance to those who opposed them. There 
was a time when the very pronunciation of the names 
of Murietta and Vasquez made men turn pale and 
chilled them into silence. The general population, 
however, filling up the mountains with the best citizen- 
ship of all countries, drawn here by the lure of gold, 
held in check largely those who, with less restraint, 
would have been vicious, and so in California it was 
not with communities of the desperate the law had 
to contend; it was with the individual. Though bad 
enough, California in those days, when compared 
with New Mexico, Nevada, Idaho and Montana, was 
orderly and peaceful. The State was fortunate in 
two sections; San Joaquin and Calaveras, in having 
in the office of sheriff remarkable men who for years 
were kept in office by reason of their express fitness 
for the place, and history would not be complete with- 
out making important note of their lives and services. 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 437 

Tom Cunningham was the sheriff of San Joaquin 
County for twenty-four years. History gives to him 
a prominent place among the peace officers of the 
State, for his activities were often beyond the limits 
of his own baiHwick. Many years ago, there drifted 
into San Joaquin County a young, robust, wholesome, 
active Irishman, who at once entered into all of the 
relations of a good citizen and engaged in business, 
and for years was a plain business man carrying on 
the trade of a harness-maker. He was of too great 
character, however, to be allowed to live always in the 
quiet of a commercial life. At that time he was in 
his prime, took a great interest in public affairs, and 
by his peculiar fitness gravitated to the office of Sheriff. 
We knew him first in 1884. For years before his 
name had been familiar to us, but somehow our ways 
had always diverged. In 1884 we went to Stockton, 
and for months before we met him face to face we 
frequently saw him upon the streets and about the 
courthouse, with the attitude and carriage of a soldier. 
There was dignity in his bearing, and with great 
energy he never seemed to be in undue haste. He 
moved about like a man who knew men ; was marked 
among thousands and would have attracted attention 
in any crowd, anywhere. After many days, in a sort 
of desperation, for he seemed illusive to us, we turned 
to a bystander and said, as Cunningham passed, "Who 
is that man?" With a questioning smile, the by- 
stander replied, "Why, don't you know Tom Cunning- 
ham ?" From thence, for fifteen years of close friend- 
ship and relation we did know him, and the knowledge 
was worth the while. A perfect equation of shape, 



43B LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

from head to foot, he was proportioned like an athlete, 
and in repose or action suggested power and alert- 
ness. He was fond of blue, and, thus dressed, looked 
like a retired general. There was no strut or vanity 
in him, but the poise was there — the military hang. 
He was naturally nervous, constantly keyed to high 
tension. This was indicated in the curve of the lips, 
the flush of the cheek, and a certain magnetic sugges- 
tion in the eye. It was not the flutter of unsteady 
nerves, for these were as if made from beaten steel. 
It was rather the radiation from a nature that recog- 
nized to its highest limit responsibility to his own best 
work and the well-being of a whole community — a 
passion for justice and a determination to have it. If 
some physical phenomenon could illustrate this com- 
bination of brain and heart force, it would be the 
shimmer of a landscape when the summer sun was 
radiating the air and it trembled in the pulsation. His 
face had in it too much of Irish ruggedness to be 
handsome, as women say it, but it was fine, strong 
and noble. It was of a high type, indicating courage, 
sagacity and benevolence. This was the true index 
of his character, which "like a city set upon a hill can 
not be hid." During his long term of office, these 
qualities kept him oftentimes, when in delicate and 
perilous situations, serene and masterful. He was 
not a man of mistakes, for with rare judgment he 
weighed situations, familiarized himself with his rela- 
tion to duty, and by a process of his own reached con- 
clusions that carried him with safety to the end. 

This readiness of judgment and caution was finely 
illustrated by his action in connection with the first 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 439 

attempt to capture Evans and Sonntag, the desperate 
robbers, at Fresno. The situation was critical and 
the peril desperate by reason of the well known des- 
peration of the outlaws, and the sheriffs of several 
counties were called to assist the sheriff of the county 
where these men were known to be in hiding. Cun- 
ningham always insisted on that action, which im- 
periled human life to the minor possibility. In con- 
sultation with the other sheriffs, he insisted that fifty, 
or if possible more, determined, reliable men should 
compose the assaulting party, for the reason that in 
the face of such an overwhelming force, the outlaws 
would be overawed and this force would demonstrate 
the folly of resistance, thus securing the capture with- 
out a fight. Cunningham stood firm in this and would 
not yield, and said that unless this plan was adopted, 
he would go home, and he did. There were those 
unkind enough, and perhaps jealous enough, to at- 
tribute this action to fear, but no one who knew Cun- 
ningham harbored so absurd a thought. We knew 
that there was some satisfying, underlying reason for 
his sudden abandonment of the chase, and on his re- 
turn home, we sent for him and asked him for the 
reason, and he explained it as we have written. How 
completely did the future show his wisdom and justify 
his conduct. The house, where Evans and Sonntag 
were hiding, was by the sheriff of the county and a 
small number of deputies surrounded during the night 
and watched till morning, when their surrender was 
demanded. When the morning broke and the demand 
was made, instead of surrendering, when the daring 
fugitives saw the number of their pursuers, they 



440 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

reckoned upon an even chance to fight through the 
ranks and escape, and a terrible gun-fight ensued, 
and after killing and wounding several of the sheriff's 
party, they escaped to the mountains, to cost the State, 
before they were finally captured, two hundred thou- 
sand dollars, and some valuable lives. Cunningham's 
plan would have saved all of this. 

He told us once that early in his official life he 
determined never to take a human life unless under 
all circumstances it became absolutely unavoidable. 
This mood became known to desperate men, who 
robbed stages and trains and despoiled their fellows, 
for a livelihood, and Cunningham was respected by 
them, and his safety assured more than once. He 
was told by one of these, whose capture he was seek- 
ing and whom he subsequently arrested, that on a 
certain night at a certain place he could have killed 
him from ambush, but that he could not harm his 
friend. Cunningham participated in many hunts for 
desperate outlaws, but never found it necessary to 
shoot at men, tho he did frequently kill the animals 
upon which they rode. He told me that he had respect 
for a man who, at the peril of his life, robbed a stage 
or a train, as these were acts which required great 
courage, and that almost without exception he found 
such transgressors to be noble men in ruins. He had 
a soft spot in his heart for all but petty criminals, 
the jackals of their trade, and even to them he was 
kindly while they were under his care. Hundreds 
of confirmed criminals could testify to acts of kind- 
ness, advice and assistance given them by Cunning- 
ham, when they were in need and every other man's 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 441 

hand was against them. He died poor, because he 
gave with both hands to the outcast. We have known 
many generous men, whose hands were given to 
charity, but among them all Cunningham towered 
easily chief. 

There was to be seen neither choice nor limitation 
in his giving. He spent no time in searching after the 
worthiness of the recipient; his need was all that he 
wished to know, and then he gave, not as the niggard 
gives, but like a prince. In all of this wide charity, 
he obeyed the Scriptures in that his left hand did not 
know what his right hand did. Personally, we know 
of many of these charities. Like Lincoln, he was 
not what men call religious, but righteousness in the 
individual and in the masses he recognized. Pure life 
and living were inspirations to him, and he gave to 
all churches and kindred institutions, because of their 
uplifting force, and he looked to them for support 
in his work, for decency, obedience to law, and the 
reign of morality. His regard for the law amounted 
to a passion, and grew and strengthened with his 
years, and all that he needed to arouse him to action 
against the highest was the fact that they were violat- 
ing the law. We remember one occasion when he 
threatened to arrest a group of leading citizens who, 
in connection with the District Fair, had given permits 
to certain gamblers to carry on their games. The 
threat was enough to stop the games, for these men 
knew with whom they had to deal. One of them, a 
well-known legislator, once a member of the legisla- 
ture, endeavored to reason with Cunningham, but he 
was inflexible, and in a burst of indignation said, 



442 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

"Senator, wipe the statute off your books and your 
men may gamble all they please. I have to enforce 
the law." 

During all the years Cunningham was sheriff, San 
Joaquin County was avoided by the vicious, and Stock- 
ton was reckoned as the most law-abiding and orderly 
city in the West. This was the example of what one 
brave, honest, clean official can do to compel first re- 
spect for law and decency, and then obedience. 

Few men had Cunningham's capacity to deal with 
men in the mass, when they were excited and turbu- 
lent. While many of the cities of the State were in 
despair over the inability to master the half-starved, 
half-crazed members of the "Coxey Army," Stockton, 
through Cunningham's mastery of men, hardly knew 
that there was such an army, altho more than once 
many members of it invaded the city. They stopped 
only long enough to have a talk with the sheriff; if 
hungry to be fed by him, and then to move on to 
torture some other place, whose peace officers were 
unskilled in mancraft. 

For years, while Cunningham was an active Repub- 
lican, the office of sheriff in San Joaquin County was 
out of politics. He was either nominated by both 
parties, or the Democratic party made no nomination, 
and so for twenty-five years, until he refused to stand 
for the place, he was the people's sheriff. He was 
faithful to his trust, and while he counted his friends 
by hosts and knew every prominent man in the 
county, he had no friend whom he would exempt from 
the e-xecution of the law. In this execution he was 
always kindly, giving to every one the benefit of the 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 443 

doubt, and, so far as his duties allowed, extending 
every privilege. He had many friendships among 
lawyers, and while he was personally closer to some 
than to others, he was always absolutely impartial 
in his dealings with all of them. He had no imme- 
diate jurisdiction of the City of Stockton, except as 
a general peace officer of the county, but he was always 
the counsellor of the police force, in constant con- 
sultation, giving to them the benefit of his knowledge 
and experience. 

His knowledge of the temptations that beset the 
young made him watchful, and he exercised a paternal 
supervision over them. A boy spending too much 
of his time upon the streets at night, indulging in the 
minor vices of men, or disposed to be prematurely 
"a man," was sure sooner or later to have an interview 
with Cunningham, a friendly talk in which for the 
time the sheriff was sunk in the man. He did not 
threaten but remonstrated, set before the young fellow 
the inevitable results of an evil life, enforced it with 
examples with which he was familiar, and, picturing 
the peace and delight of a pure life, would entreat the 
erring boy to turn from his evil ways, and after this, 
he always endeavored to have the boy maintain his 
respect. Many a man, now reputable, can testify to 
the influence of the great sheriff upon his life. His 
peculiar power in such work was because he never 
threatened. He placed before the offender the two 
ways, pointing out the end, and left the choice to 
their judgment and conscience. He was a brave lad, 
however, who could be defiant when he felt that Cun- 
ningham's eye was upon him. 



444 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

During- his entire term he was a sober man. No 
one, better than he, knew the power of wine to over- 
throw the judgment, the possibiHty that at critical 
moments passion instead of judgment would lead to 
situations where error would be disastrous. He was 
convivial, had the Irish temperament, was fond of the 
good things of life, but held himself in the firm grip 
of an iron control. This as much as anything gave 
him the commanding influence that he had with the 
officers of the law, and with courts throughout the 
State, made him the confidant of many desperate 
m.en, opened to him many opportunities for good, 
finally enrolling his name among those who had helped 
in a large way to build up the State along the best 
lines. He was a power for good, and his retirement 
from office seemed like a public disaster. There was 
a staunch loyalty in the man that made him very 
lovable. 

Time and money were counted as nothing when 
a friend was in need. There seemed no limitations 
to him in this respect. He was a solace to those 
whose hearts were sore, bread to the famishing, 
consolation to the sick and rest to the weary. A smile, 
a pat on the shoulder, a grip of the hand from him, 
were often comfort beyond words. He seemed to 
know by an unerring intuition just what one needed. 
There was none of the mystic in him, for he was 
built physically too strong for this, and yet he seemed 
to possess to a large degree what men, because it 
can not be otherwise defined, call the "Sixth Sense." 
This doubtless came from his education in the office, 
his close touch with all manner of men und^r varying 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 445 

conditions, his analyses of motives and comparison of 
individuals. Most men are hardened by contact with 
vice, — the continuous touch with the "night side" of 
human nature, which blinds the mind, hardens the 
heart, and dries up the fountain of faith. Suspicion, 
unbelief in human goodness, poisons their minds, and 
they generally subscribe fully to the cruel maxim : 
"Believe all men to be evil until they prove themselves 
to be good." This terrible mood plays havoc with 
a man's own nature and renders him incapable of 
realizing that the world he deals with is but a seg- 
ment — a dark corner only in the larger world where 
self-sacrifice, devotion and clean living are operating 
daily. 

Cunningham was singularly free from this moral 
dry-rot of the heart. He believed in his fellows, even 
found in the convict some quality of virtue that in his 
degradation kept him still a living soul, some clean 
spot where the s^eds of good might be planted to 
bring forth a moral harvest. 

His attitude to the convict was always that of a 
friend. In taking them from his bailiwick to deliver 
them to the State Prison, he always treated them with 
kindliest consideration, kept out of sight on the cars 
and in the streets the evidences of the man's state. 
Unless with some desperate man to whom escape was 
ever present, an overmastering temptation, he 
seldom used handcuffs. He never failed to pay out 
of his own pocket for whatsoever of luxuries the 
poor wretch might suggest, and many a convict will 
remember with gratitude the kindly generosity of the 
great sheriff. All this was the strong throb of a 



446 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

heart full of pity for him who seemed ever to be the 
victim of the environment that civilization, poverty, 
and bad example had grouped about him, to which 
might be added the deadly work of drink. He in- 
variably attributed a man's downfall to something 
outside of the man, not within him. This quality gave 
him the real friendship of even confirmed criminals, 
men who made unlawful prey upon their fellows a 
business, to whom crime was a deliberate choice, out 
of whose hearts had perished the attributes of man- 
hood, the terrible products of a dead conscience. These 
were the Ishmaelites of the world, whose hand was 
against every man and every man's hand against 
them. They were the natural enemies of the peace 
officers and looked upon by them as such. Cunning- 
ham told us he sought for the confidence of such men 
for two reasons — first, because they were human and 
needed some man other than their own kind whom 
they could call friend, and secondly,, because they aided 
him greatly in preserving the people of his country 
from their operations. 

There is a well-known division among criminals, 
into well defined classes, and between those of the 
same class there exists a sort of freemasonry. A 
community of evil interests binds these together, so 
that an entire State is kept informed of conditions 
favorable to the successful commission of crimes. 
Word is passed along the line, and confederates in 
Los Angeles become perfectly well acquainted with 
the opportunities for their work in Siskiyou or San 
Joaquin. The reputation of peace officers for honesty, 
courage and activity becomes a part of this knowledge, 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 447 

and this accounts for the fact that while some com- 
munities are comparatively free of crime, others are 
overrun with active and daring outlaws. During the 
entire twenty-five years that Cunningham was sheriff 
of San Joaquin County, that county was singularly 
free from criminal invasion, and the City of Stockton 
the most avoided city in the State. This condition 
was left by him as his legacy, and in a measure it still 
exists. 

The range of this community of friendship exist- 
ing between Cunningham and the criminals often 
made him a valuable aid to the sheriffs of other coun- 
ties, for when some well-known criminal was under 
arrest and being submitted to searching inquiry, re- 
mained dumb to all questions, he would finally say, 
"If you want me to talk, send for Tom Cunningham 
and I will talk with him." This was done many times, 
until he became by a sort of common understanding 
the "Father Confessor" of the jails. Nothing could 
more fully illuminate the genius of Cunningham, a 
rare combination of mental and moral endowment, 
for none but a brainy man could have carried him- 
self through such contact and come out without scar, 
and brainy as he might be, doors of opportunity would 
be barred against him, unless he had a steady heart, 
beating without a skip, with the mercy that kept him 
tender, full of pity for all human beings in distress. 

To the courts he was an adviser and support. 
Judges trusted him to the utmost, and for them 
he had the same great respect he had for the 
law itself. He believed in the integrity of the 
judiciary and was impatient with those who should 



448 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

but did not sustain the administration of the law 
by the courts. To him "the king could do no 
wrong." He was a shrewd measurer of human 
action, was hard to deceive, was not clouded in 
his judgment by reason of his affiliations; but he 
had faith in the men selected by the community 
to sit upon the bench and he stood by the side 
of the court as the executor of the law and its decrees, 
with perfect trust in their righteousness. He aided 
the courts by his experience and advice in the ad- 
measurement of sentences, and his suggestions as to 
length of sentences were invariably heeded. He was 
able to draw, from his knowledge of the criminals, 
the character of the evidence and the circumstances 
surrounding it, a perfect equation between the offense 
and the sentence. In all of this he was merciful but 
just as between the offender and the State. Many 
times offenders had reason to be thankful for the 
sober, merciful judgment of the sherifif which had in- 
fluenced the harsher judgment of the court. 

It was not only in criminal matters that Cunning- 
ham's qualities were exhibited, for in civil affairs he 
was equally efficient. He had a clear idea of the rights 
of litigants, and while giving to the successful suitor 
all that the law entitled him to, so far as he could 
within the line of his duty, he made defeat to the 
unsuccessful as unembarrassing as possible. He was 
ready to persuade the man seeking to attach or fore- 
close upon his neighbor, that it should be done only 
when it became an absolute necessity. He knew by 
long acquaintance almost every man in the county 
and his resources, and with this knowledge he was 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 449 

able to determine whether drastic measures of litiga- 
tion were necessary, and it was in the clearness of 
this light that he persuaded men to be merciful in 
their business. Many are the men whose estates and 
homes were saved by this large and kindly wisdom. 
Of course, this was a sort of paternalism exercised by 
an executive officer of the Government against which 
shortsighted men so frequently rail, but it was a pater- 
nalism which had its root in the deep affection he had 
for all the individual members of the community that 
had sustained him for so many years in so loyal a 
way. It was a fine expression of the man's deep- 
seated gratitude for the people's long reposed con- 
fidence in him, and he wanted to pay back to them all 
that he could of his moral debt. 

Lowly people, to whom life had been hard, were 
objects of care to Cunningham, and to the ill and the 
suffering he ministered in a comforting but unostenta- 
tious way. Of course, such a man must have enemies, 
and he had his, though they were few. The enmity 
of a man was no bar to Cunningham's willingness to 
aid him when necessary. One instance of this gener- 
osity will suffice to show this peculiar trait that entered 
into his dealings with those who had sought to injure 
him. A poor man, with a large family, for some 
unknown reason had exprest great antipathy to the 
sheriff. His family were subsequently stricken with 
smallpox, and his entire household quarantined. The 
sheriff heard of it, and knew from the man's circum- 
stances that they must be in need, and so he purchased 
an abundant supply of provisions, and after nightfall 
carried them himself to the backvard of the house. 



450 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

hailed the man and told him what he would find at 
the gate. It was a godsend, for indeed the smitten 
family were in distress. This unexpected generosity 
was continued until the lifting of the quarantine. It 
was "coals of fire upon his head," so far as the 
sherifif's enemy was concerned, for the kindness broke 
his unfriendliness, and he was ever afterwards a grate- 
ful constituent. 

Stockton had quite a negro population, and the 
colored men to a unit were always for Cunningham. 
An amusing incident occurred during an exciting elec- 
tion in connection with a colored man's club called, 
"The Silver Side Club." A noted Irish wag of the 
town had taunted some of its members with a state- 
ment that the Irish were going to down the colored 
men in the election. This was taken as a serious 
threat, and the club decided upon retaliation. A meet- 
ing was called to consider the situation, and the club- 
room was full. The presiding officer, with the pomp- 
ous air of his kind when in authority, rapped for 
order and stated the threat and asked for immediate 
action. An old colored man, with a squeaking voice, 
rose and made a motion that at the forthcoming elec- 
tion no colored man should vote for an Irishman. A 
second to the motion brought the matter to a focus, 
but just as the president was about to put it to the 
vote, up jumped a Avell-known colored patriarch, who 
said, "Mistah President, we seem to be going too fast. 
Befo' de motion is put by the cha'r, I desire to say 
that Massa Cunningham who is friend of the colored 
men, is an Irishman, and dis resolution will carry 
away de colored vote. I therefore move you, Mistah 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 451 

President, that as Massa Cunningham is a sort of 
superior Irishman, he be 'cepted from de resokition." 
With great clapping of hands and stamping of feet, 
the motion as amended was carried with a shout, 
and Cunningham, as of old, got the colored vote. It 
was true, as the old negro stated, that he was a supe- 
rior Irishman, for he never failed to exhibit the high- 
est type of the virtues of that race that everywhere, 
in forum, in commercial life, and on the battlefield, 
has won renown by reason of its honor. 

It would not be fair if we made no mention of a 
splendid man v/ho. in the same ofifice, in an adjoining 
county, for more than forty-five years was a fearless 
defender, oftentimes in desperate situations, of law 
and order. Ben Thorne, as he was affectionately 
called by all the people, was during all of these event- 
ful years, from 1855 until his death, a peace officer 
in Calaveras County, and for thirty-three years its 
sheriff. He was first appointed Deputy Sheriff in 
1855, for the sole purpose of ridding that section of 
the marauding bands of desperadoes that infested 
the mountains and preyed upon the miners. Thorne 
was equal to the task and by his ceaseless energy 
drove them to jail, the gallows or to flight. He be- 
came a haunting terror to the outlaw, and they soon 
learned that their only safety was in flight, once he 
was upon their trail. It would serve no purpose to 
narrate the especial cases, although they were many, 
in which he brought these outlaws to justice. They 
are a part of the criminal history of the State, pre- 
served in appropriate places. It is with the man that 
we are dealing, not his achievements, and it suffices 



452 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

to say that he never failed in his duty tho oftentimes 
he performed it in the face of almost certain violent 
death. 

Thorne had a mixture of Danish and English blood, 
and in this admixture was the best of both. He 
was born in New York, but was early taken to the 
unbroken West, where in the breadth of the continent 
his native traits were nourished and his energy was 
given a field for its expansion. Here he was made 
familiar with native warfare and its brutal savagery. 
This was the school of peril in which he was trained 
for the heroic work of his manhood. In 1849 he 
crossed the plains to California, and in the long trip 
was, with his comrades, beset by countless perils. The 
dreaded cholera broke out among the emigrants and 
followed the line of travel from train to train, smiting 
its thousands who had left their homes with high 
hopes. He nourished the sick and buried the dead, 
taking no account of his own possible fate. He 
seemed to bear a charmed life, to be a child of destiny, 
and past the dying and the dead he struggled on 
toward the land of his achievements. No man could 
look into the quiet, determined face of Ben Thorne 
and peer into the silent deeps of his brave eyes, with- 
out recognizing at once the excellence of the man. 

He was not robust, but was knit together as if he 
had an abundance of iron in his blood. Modest and 
retiring, he moved about among his fellows, gentle 
to the weak, stern to the evil, a fine combination, often 
found in this type of man, of gentleness and valor. 
There was in him the spirit that seemed impervious 
to any recognition of the possibility of harm while 



TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 453 

performing his duty. To perform this duty in the 
bravest, largest way, was his passion. It was his only 
passion, for under circumstances that might well have 
paled the cheek of the bravest of the brave, he was 
as cool as ice. It was this quality that served him in 
desperate situations, for it overawed the most reck- 
less and desperate and made them obedient to his 
will. This obedience he must have, for he was uncom- 
promising, and as relentless on the trail of a wrong- 
doer as fate. In the chase of a fleeing criminal he 
knew no fatigue. Hours, days, of continuous travel 
over untrailed mountains, down into deepest canyons, 
over lone miles of valley, there was no power to 
touch the matchless resource of his tireless strength. 
He was a minister of outraged law, and its voice 
called to him for 'retribution. Fatigue and weariness 
had no power to stay him. Such men are substantially 
the agents of some plan whereby the frontier may be 
regenerated and the perils of life there may yield to 
peace. Unlike Cunningham, he was a Democrat, firm 
in his faith, but, like Cunningham, he had nothing to 
do with politics in his office. As political nominee or 
independent candidate, he was always elected. He 
satisfied the people, and they satisfied him. Under 
his fearless administration of the law, slowly at first, 
but finally, his county became a place of peace, and in 
the quiet of the hills the very best citizenship, tho 
much of it was foreign, found homes in absolute 
safety. 

We knew Thome well for years, the same quiet, 
reliable, modest man, kindly and companionable, proud 
of his county and its people, glorying in its peace and 



454 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

prosperity, but making no mention of his part in its 
accomplishment. If we remember rightly, he died 
in office. During the last years he was ill and racked 
by disease that sapped much of the joy of life, doubt- 
less the heritage of his work, but he looked upon 
death with resolute mien, the same resoluteness that 
had marked him in exciting times as one of the most 
remarkable men of the West. His quenchless eye 
still shone with the light of an undaunted spirit. 
Whether he had religious faith or not, we do not 
know, but such men must be in the highest sense re- 
ligious, and somewhere in the beauty of the eternal 
life he must be at rest, for even God could not spare 
such souls out of the universe. If they perish, there 
must come finally moral disaster to the universe 
itself. 



Chapter XXV 

A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD AND THE 
MAN WHO TRANSPLANTED IT 

T7»R0M the days of the Puritan the breeding grounds 
^ of the scholar have been Harvard and Yale. 
Here they have found the allurements of study, content 
to forego the activities of life where their fellows con- 
tended for material things. This attitude has become 
fixt, until to be admitted to their companionship re- 
quires solid culture founded upon broad scholarship. 
The scholars of the Republic clung with affection to 
the altars that great minds had erected in the universi- 
ties. They heard the voices of other men calling from 
the large spaces of the continent. But this did not 
disturb their peace. As a people we were half a 
century old before the East began to send out her 
gifted sons to carry wisdom into the forests and 
prairies of the West — the West which lay just beyond 
the Mississippi. The advance guard were the sinewed 
sons of adventure. In these days, in this same terri- 
tory, millions are housed, and the moral and political 
center of our people is established. 

The call of the West was not the song of a siren — 
rather the voice of a giant blowing vibrant messages, 
the cry of the Macedonian, ''Come over and help us." 

455 



456 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

The young responded eagerly to the invitation, and 
soon were possessing the West. They were splendid 
in courage and hope, expanding rapidly to the lengths 
and breadths and heights about them. The story 
of this multitude is inspiring history, which never 
fails to stir us. In the individual life, however, is 
where we more clearly discern the indomitable genius 
of our people, for in it we find focalized aspiration of 
a mighty race. 

Careers of the successful are of the same type, as 
there are in such the same deathless faith, the same 
iron in the blood. With many of these individuals 
we have been associated in business and in social life, 
and by close contact able to measure them. We shall 
try to sketch a single character, with features perfectly 
dj^awn, as the engraver etches them when he seeks to 
transfer to his plate the face of his subject, engraved 
with delicate lines here, and broad lines there, so that 
spirit shall be in the picture and speak truthfully of the 
man, so that men shall be able to say, "This is a noble 
or a mean soul." We will try the engraver's skill and 
draw the features of one who is a fine example of the 
high type of which we have written. We asked him 
once for a few of the facts of his boyhood, with which 
we were not familiar but which we needed, for no 
greater truth is written than, "The boy is father to the 
man." 

The first statement T. S. Bullock (lovingly known 
as Tom Bullock) made to us was: 'T was born of 
poor but God-fearing parents." In these reckless days 
men have ordinarily no time to apply to their 
lives the relation of such a statement. The struggle 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 457 

is too fierce, the pace too swift. Such a recital, how- 
ever, when one begins the story of his life, is sugges- 
tive; and gives the key to a career, and makes plain 
the sources of character. There is a sermon in these 
simple words, and they hold us to simple faiths. How 
many fine souls have made this same statement in 
many lands and ages, until it seems as if a great 
life is a natural evolution "from poor but God-fearing 
parents." 

Tom Bullock was born in Sterling, Indiana. He 
had none of the advantages of the youth of to-day. 
He worked with his hands. His education came to 
him in the achievements of later years. At eleven 
he was clerking in a country store, as Lincoln did. 
From fourteen to eighteen he was at work in the dis- 
tasteful atmosphere of a pork-packing house in Kansas, 
then the seat of turbulence and violence, where liberty 
and slavery were waging deadly battles for mastery. 
In 1871, a mere stripling, he took his life into his own 
hands and started for California. What he had 
heard of its climate and opportunities made the pack- 
ing house, with its foulness, intolerable. Of money 
he had little, of will plenty. It did not take him long, 
when he reached California, to find that San Francisco 
was a fascinating place, but not one of opportunities. 
He started for Los Angeles as a steerage passenger on 
a coast steamer. Los Angeles was not satisfying, and 
he struck out for the desert, and walked alone over 
burning sands, through long stretches of silent levels, 
climbed over hot hills, often hungry, more often tor- 
tured by the awful thirst that makes the southern 
desert so perilous to human life. This tramp he kept 



458 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

up for forty-two days, until he reached Prescott. Sub- 
consciously he realized that here was his opportunity, 
and he went to work in a placer mine, where he toiled 
like a galley slave without much reward for eight 
months. At the end of this time he found himself, 
after paying his board and lodging, the owner of 
eight dollars, with hardly enough clothing to cover 
his nakedness, and actually shoeless. The eight dol- 
lars earned by such hard endeavor exercised an occult 
influence over him, and he had them made into a ring- 
so that he might always have his first earnings in the 
West. This failed of its purpose, however, for short- 
ly afterwards, while a passenger on a stage coach, 
just out of Florence, the outfit was held up by a high- 
wayman, and he parted with his ring. This, by a 
curious coincidence, was the first stage hold-up in 
Arizona. While he lost his ring, he became a part of 
history as one of the first victims of stage robbers 
in that territory. 

Back to the store in Prescott he went as a clerk 
for a year. He was now twenty-one years of age, and 
that genius, that in future years made him famous 
as a railroad man in Arizona and Mexico, began to 
work in his blood and brain. He went to New York, 
where he plunged into street work, laying gas mains, 
erecting buildings and street railways. He exhibited 
a rare genius for such work, and before long became 
noted, and from New York expanded his operations 
until he was engaged in like work in several adjoin- 
ing States. He grew with his work until he became 
a master, and soon was the associate of leading finan- 
ciers of New York City. The boy had found his 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 459 

place, and with energy and persistence, his distinguish- 
ing quaHties to-day, became a director of events rather 
than a mere executor of them. 

In 1886 he had money and influence enough to 
become a builder of a railroad of his own. and went 
back to Arizona, his first love, and constructed seventy- 
seven miles of railroad, from Seligmann to Prescott. 
The history of this line reads like fiction. In the 
building and in its financiering he exhibited the high- 
est qualities of the trained promoter as well as the 
practical builder. He imprest the legislature of Ariz- 
ona to such an extent that by its act the Territory 
lent its name and security to the bond issue by which 
the railroad was built. For eight years this line was 
prosperous, but at the end of this time the inevitable 
competition occurred and a shorter line was built as 
a part of the Santa Fe system, and "Bullock's Road," 
as it was called, became useless. He was "up against 
it," as the Western phrase was, but not for long, for 
the courage of the young railroad man found a way 
and a place for its transplanting. How this feat was 
accomplished, we wull disclose before the end of the 
chapter. 

He was still growing, still expanding, and from 
1888 to 1891 we find him in Mexico, constructing four 
hundred miles of railroad from Trevino, by w^ay of 
Monterey, the capital, to Tampico. After its comple- 
tion, accomplished by almost superhuman miracles in 
finance, he sold the road to a French syndicate. This 
road afterwards became a part of the Mexican Central 
Railway system. While Bullock cleaned up a fortune, 
his profits were cut down by more than half from the 



46o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

fall in the price of silver in the United States, for his 
contract called for payment in silver. At the time it 
was made, silver was worth ninety cents per ounce; 
before he was ready to turn over the road silver had 
dropt to forty-five cents per ounce, and he suffered 
the loss. His fame, as a successful operator, builder, 
and financier, was now established firmly, and he had 
a host of friends in the business world ready to back 
any enterprise which he might stand for. 

Connected with the building of the little seventy- 
seven mile railroad there were interesting incidents' 
illustrative of Arizona life. The nickname of the old 
settler of Northern Arizona, to distinguish him from 
the new-comer, who was known as a "tender-foot," 
was "hazamper," taken from the name of a celebrated 
creek near Prescott. Bullock ranked as a hazamper, 
and he was a favorite with the large tribe. To the 
same tribe belonged poor, gallant Bucky O'Neal. 
It was the loyalty of Bullock to the hazampers 
that led finally to the building of the road. A 
delegation from Prescott was sent to New York to 
prevail upon Bullock to return to Arizona and under- 
take the task. This he consented to do, and came back 
to look over the ground. At this time Bucky O'Neal, 
with a partner, Charlie Beach, was publishing a 
paper in Prescott, which was of the usual type of 
frontier papers, full of ginger and courage, fearless in 
the support of public measures of merit and merciless 
in denunciation of bad things and bad men. Bucky 
O'Neal and Beach were great admirers of Bullock, 
and as soon as it was known that he was coming to 
undertake the railroad, the little newspaper was filled 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 461 

daily with praise of the project and the man. PubHc 
sentiment was thus warmed into high expectation, 
and all but a few "soreheads," pessimistic prophets of 
despair found everywhere, believed in the enterprise 
and trusted Bullock to carry it through. 

When he arrived from New York, the whole town, 
except the few "soreheads," turned out to welcome 
him with noisy joy. No returning conqueror ever 
received a more hearty welcome to his home than did 
Bullock when he stepped from the stage. Prior to 
his arrival a crowd was standing on the street, the 
same crowd one sees even to-day in any remote little 
Arizona town — standing with hands in pockets, spit- 
ting tobacco juice, listening to some town oracle. 
Among the crowd was one of the "soreheads," and 
a hazamper asked him what he thought of it. The 
"sorehead" replied, "I think it's a fake; no darned kid 
of a hazamper like Bullock could make me believe that 
he could build seventy-seven miles of railroad through 
the desert." An old hazamper standing nearby over- 
heard the remark, and went straight to Charlie Beach 
and told him what the "sorehead" had said. That 
was enough for Beach, and he marched down the 
street, met the "sorehead" and promptly knocked him 
down. The "sorehead" did not wait for more, but 
staggering to his feet started post-haste for the pro- 
tection of his home. But he was destined for another 
knock-down, for O'Neal had heard just then of the 
obnoxious remark and he too took the warpath and 
just as "sorehead" turned a corner he came face-to- 
face with O'Neal, and biff went his fist, taking the 
"sorehead" in the jaw, and down he went aga'.n. 



462 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

Two knock-downs within half an hour changed the 
outlook of the "sorehead," and he from thence joined 
the ranks of the shouters for the railroad. 

Poor Bucky O'Neal rushed to the front during the 
call of troops for the Spanish War, with a company 
he had organized among the Rough Riders, and at 
the first battle of San Juan fell dead with a bullet in 
his heart. At the moment he was shot, he was a 
hundred feet ahead of his company, rushing with his 
impetuous spirit into the center of the fight. When 
it was known to his friends that he had gone to the 
war, almost to a man they said that he would die in" 
battle. This was no evil prophecy, but the regretful 
expression of a fear that had its root in the knowledge 
of his fearless spirit. They knew that no self-protect- 
ing discretion would ever hold him out of the jaws 
of peril, that he would always be in the front where 
the deadly bullets were thickest, and where he would 
be reckless in his exposure to death, and that nothing 
but a miracle could save him from a soldier's fate, 
and so it was, for he was slain in almost the first storm 
of bullets. That Bullock was loved by such a man 
was the highest testimonial to his own worth. 

With the road to Prescott paralleled by a shorter 
road, one of two things was left — either to sell the 
rails for old iron, make firewood of the ties, dispose 
of the rolling stock at whatever price it would bring, 
or move it bodily to some place where a new railroad 
was called for. Bullock never for a mom.ent enter- 
tained the first proposition. He was not made of the 
stuff that quits, and so he set out on a voyage of 
discovery. There was no room in Arizona or Mexico 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 463 

for such a road. He was fund of California, its 
climate and opportunities, and so to California he 
came. He was not equipped with any extensive knowl- 
edge of the State at large, found all of its valleys 
occupied with railroads, and at first was compelled 
to rely on secondhand information as to places and 
resources. He was not only a financier and a builder 
of railroads, but he had acquired the collateral wis- 
dom that all successful railroad operators must have — 
a knowledge of the capacity of the country through 
which the road runs, to sustain the road and build 
up a contributive, remunerative trade. He knew thor- 
oughly that it was one thing to build a railroad and 
another to make it pay. In this quality he greatly 
resembled the late empire-builder, Harriman. 

Patient months were spent in examination of 
schemes, but one by one they were rejected because 
the sustaining trade was not in sight. He finally 
determined that a road from Stockton to Sonora 
could be made sustaining, and he organized the Sierra 
Pacific Railway Company. The project appealed to 
the people of the country through which the road was 
to run, and a committee of leading citizens was ap- 
pointed to secure rights of way. This committee 
diligently worked, but after a month or more demon- 
strated only one fact, and that v.'as that rights of 
way were not to be had for the asking, and that they 
would cost too much to warrant the building of the 
road, and so that scheme went by the board. Bul- 
lock was somewhat discouraged, but not defeated, 
altho at this time he was not in robust health. Mo- 
mentarily despondent, while he was confined to his 



464 LIFE OX THE PACIFIC COAST 

room ir. the Palace Hotel, he sent for us and said 
he thought he would go back to New York and aban- 
don for the time the attempt to transplant the 
Arizona road. 

We saw that this was simply a sag in the mind 
of one "vho was not well, and suggested that there 
was no real trouble — that the mistake had been 
in tr}'ing to build from Stockton, and that the 
logical route was from Oakdale. a station on the 
Southern Pacific Company's line in Stanislaus County, 
to Sonora. The sick man was well the next day, and 
within a week ground was broken for the line 
of the Sierra Railway Company of California, which 
since 1897 has been operated with great profit, g^iving 
an outlet to the vast resources of a great region, build- 
ing new enterprises and creating new industries. The 
seventy-seven miles of the deserted Arizona railroad 
were bodily transplanted and extended thirty miles. 
As feeders to this, two other roads have been pro- 
jected and one has been built. With the mere trans- 
planting Bullock was not satisfied. This was the first 
step only. The country must be quickened, the people 
aroused to their powers, industries revived or created, 
new people attracted and settled, for a new railroad 
must be nursed. To this task Bullock applied himself, 
and while inspiring others to the renewal of old ven- 
tures and the establishment of new, he plunged him- 
self into the industrial field, built hotels to accommodate 
the traveling public, opened quarries of marble, built 
and operated lumber mills and manufacturing plants, 
encouraged the agriculturist to enlarge his fields and 
orchards, exhibiting in all a tireless energy and the 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 465 

genius of one who appreciated the resources about 
him. Fifteen years of tireless energy have remodeled 
the whole country and changed the face of nature, and 
a remote region has become the center of industrial 
activities. 

There is always breadth in what Bullock does. We 
do not know whether he could make a single hundred 
dollars or not. We have always doubted it, but when 
it comes to making hundreds of thousands he is on 
"his native heath." It would be impossible for him to 
be content with the possession of Government bonds 
resting in a safe deposit box. The clipping of semi- 
annual coupons would have no interest to him. His 
dollars must work, and the work must be along large 
lines. He has the instinct of a seer, he looks with 
clear eyes into the future, and merges into constructive 
agents the mass of things that work out his will. The 
courage of his work is illustrated by his purchase in 
1893 of a five hundred thousand acre land grant in 
West Virginia and Kentucky, which to any one less 
equipped would have seemed the very desperation of 
a forlorn hope. His million cleaned up from the Mexi- 
can railroad was lying in New York banks, and it 
must be set to work. He ascertained that in the year 
1792 the State of Virginia had, for moneys loaned 
to the United States in one of its darkest hours, 
granted to Robert Morris, the patriotic banker of 
Philadelphia, this land in the then unknown, unin- 
habited wilds of western territory. By the way, one 
of the heirs of this estate was Mrs. Maybrick, so long 
in an English jaiL It was then, however, as large as 



466 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

some dukedom in Europe, but poor payment for the 
moneys loaned. 

For decades the title lay dormant, represented only 
in documents yellow with age. There had been 
no possession, no assertion of rights, and the ter- 
ritory had merged from its primal estate and was 
possest by people who had settled and occupied the 
greater portion of the grant without knowledge of 
the superior title, ignorant that their homes were 
overshadowed by a colossal cloud. While the paper 
title was flawless, so far as the grant was concerned, 
its boundaries were uncertain, ancient surveys meager 
and indefinite, and the opposing minds of actual set- 
tlers made the oldest inhabitant singularly ignorant 
of the landmarks called for in the grant. xA-dded to 
this the State had undertaken to cut off the title by 
tax sales under the color of law. The people who 
claimed title to individual homes were of the class 
found in that part of the Union — simple-minded in 
many ways, ignorant of the world, divided into clans, 
torn by feuds, but ready with the gun to defend in 
common against the intruding stranger. 

Such were the conditions against which Bullock 
and his associates had to contend — uncertainty of 
description, hostility of settlers, and the claim off 
forfeiture by the State. In fact, the purchase was, 
from an ordinary standpoint, simply the purchase of 
a colossal lawsuit whose end must come after many 
years, the expenditure of vast sums of money, perils 
from hostile settlers, and the to be expected bias of 
the courts ajid a certainty of bias in the jury box. 
These things did not deter Bullock, and with his title 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 467 

he began the war now waged for nearly twenty years 
with varying success, and the expenditure of tens of 
thousands of dollars. Like a football in a hot game, 
he has been tossed back and forth from inferior to 
superior courts. 

With wisdom and friendliness. Bullock early dis- 
closed that he did not care for the surface of the 
ground, that it was only the coal pits beneath that he 
desired, and he offered to deed to all actual settlers 
their homes, with a reservation of the underground. 
This settled the moral questions and left the legality 
of title as the sole issue, and around this has been 
waged a ceaseless conflict for twenty years. Out of 
the conflict has emerged a clear title to some thou- 
sand acres, mostly coal lands, which in itself is a 
royal estate, and which will multiply in value into 
millions, when projected railroads shall tap that sec- 
tion of the country. The story of this grant, in court 
and out of court, from its inception to the present 
day, is an exciting one, into which is woven every 
phase of human character — deadly hates culminating 
in more deadly deeds, the loyalty of simple woodmen, 
the hand of assassins, doubts of judicial virtue — in 
fact, all the lights and shadows as lived in wild places. 
Tf it be true that "to patient faith the prize is sure," 
the clearness of Bullock's vision in his attitude to this 
old grant will be justified. 

The analysis of human character is always fascinat- 
ing, providing one is able in the analysis, to sepa- 
rate from the mass of character controlling traits, 
mental trends and moral tones, to delve beneath mere 
surface expressions into the deeps where the man really 



468 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

lives and has his being. The great man is often sen- 
sitive about an exposure of his finest moral treasures 
hidden behind silent lips; of unsuspected tenderness 
he is willing to let the world judge him by super- 
ficial things, according to its standards, caring lit- 
tle for misconstruction of motive or misapprehension 
of reasons underlying conduct. This is possible 
only to the man who is sure of himself, who has 
weighed himself in the balance and found that he is 
not wanting. Great men are frequently puzzling be- 
cause they are so violative of our preconceptions. They 
do not fit the golden frame we have prepared fcr 
their portraits. Who that did not know of his su- 
preme excellence would have selected the gaunt and 
graceless figure of Lincoln as he walked down 
Pennsylvania Avenue, uncouth in dress and gesture, 
as the chief citizen of the world. Would any- 
thing in the physical man have given to a stranger 
any suggestion that he was in the presence of a 
being with such splendid moral endowment that 
he was able, amid the terror of awful years, to carry 
alone in brain and heart the destines of his country, 
to preserve freedom to the whole people, and to give 
liberty to an enslaved race? Who would have choseii 
Grant as the greatest soldier of the period? Who 
chosen Harriman from a group of his fellows as the 
master builder of industrial empire? A man who 
has with imperfect weapons won all his battles, who 
with his opportunities has measured up to them, and 
does not know what failure means, is great. 

Come with us and for a moment we will intrude 
upon an ordinary hour with Bullock in his office. 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 469 

Busy? Yes, but he does not look it. Before him, 
on his knees, lies a sheet of paper, crossed and re- 
crossed with columns of figures. To you they are 
as meaningless as the cuneiform tracery on a Babylon- 
ian column, as unsatisfying as a Chinese puzzle, and 
the fact is they have no meaning to him. It is simply 
the trick of the years, a mere process by which he 
concentrates his mind upon some problem of finance 
he is working out. These pieces of paper actually 
litter his desk, for his mind is never at rest except 
when he is asleep. As he looks up, we see the face 
of one whose native kindness softens regular features 
with a faint tinge that for a second colors the pale- 
ness so often found in the faces of scholars and men 
of concentrated faculties. He is in his favorite atti- 
tude, half doubled up in an easy chair — an uncon- 
scious pose. In a low voice he talks, without modula- 
tion. He has no tricks of speech, and what he says 
he states with a directness that never drifts into col- 
lateral discussion. He is quick of apprehension and 
expects you to be, and this is why he is not guilty of 
any dissipation of talk. There is no reserve, for he 
is always approachable, and listens patiently to what- 
ever may be said. He is rarely poised, has an un- 
varying evenness of temperament, patient in every- 
thing he says and does. He doubtless would be 
classed among the sanguine nervous, but does not 
belong to the purely nervous except in so far as that 
term includes alertness of mind and rapidity of mental 
action, and the capacity to reach, without hesitation, 
conclusions. 

Business finished, he for a moment will give way 



470 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

to social talk, often surprising one by a quaintness 
of humor that leaks out of the sunniness of a gener- 
ous spirit, and you forget for a second the strong 
man and his masterful grasp of situations. Personally 
he is winning, charming in simplicity and genuine- 
ness. It makes you feel persona grata. He is an easy 
man to do business with by reason of his suavity of 
manner and the solid grasp he has of situations. He 
has a tender care for all his employees, from the high- 
est to the lowest, and to the humblest workman in his 
employ he is "Tom Bullock." Thousands of simple 
workmen all over the continent are proud to say that 
Tom Bullock is their friend. 

His associates have always found him as full of 
integrity as of capacity. For fifteen years we have 
maintained the closest of confidential relations with 
him, and we have never known him to be jarred out 
of his poise, and we have seen him in situations where 
a more than ordinary man would have lost his moral 
control in a storm of justifiable passion. When stirred 
most, the only evidence is a slight flush of the cheek, 
an unwonted light in the eye, and maybe just the 
slightest rise in the volume of the voice. These meas- 
ure either his pleasure, contempt or scorn. 

There is a large measure of moral beauty in the 
man that is discernible only by accident, for there is 
spiritual modesty about him. Unless it becomes neces- 
sary he makes no disclosure of his generous spirit. 
We know this because it became necessary to know 
it by reason of his benefactions to those who were 
constant recipients of his bounty. These were scat- 
tered about the entire country, in receipt of regular 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 471 

aid. They were in most cases old friends, diseased, 
aged and poverty-stricken, to whom his charity was 
as if out of the hand of an angel. One day he handed 
us a letter. It announced the death of an old lady in 
New York, and he told us that for years he had sent 
to the poor old lady twenty dollars a month, and re- 
cited the story of her relation to him, very beautiful 
very instructive, in that it exposed the dignity and 
grace of a simple devout life. He said that once in 
New^ York, when he was beginning to be a man of 
afifairs, in touch with men who controlled finance, he 
was still poor, and found it difficult to keep up the 
social pace called for in New York; that he was in 
the midst of a negotiation involving large sums of 
money, which he was compelled to secure; that it was 
necessary that he be well drest, keep up all appear- 
ances of prosperity and live at an expensive hotel. 
Just at the time when the matter in hand was about 
to be consummated, he found himself absolutely 
"broke," without money to pay his hotel bills, which 
fact if it leaked out would have destroyed his plans. 
He was at the end of his trail and did not know where 
to turn. He needed some companionship, the solace 
of some genuine soul, some sympathy, to ease the 
strain, and he went to the old lady. He w^as "down 
in the mouth." She noticed it, and asking him the 
reason, he told her of his dilemma, and that if he had 
a single five hundred dollars he w^ould bridge the 
situation and carry out his deal. She listened silently, 
and when he had done, left the room, but soon re- 
turned and with a motherly smile handed to him out 
of an old pocketbook five hundred dollars in green- 



472 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

backs. He was staggered for the second and asked 
where she had gotten the money. She told him that 
it was all of her savings of years; that she had laid 
this up to secure her in her old age from possible 
poverty. He refused to take the money but she in- 
sisted with such loving, trustful persistence that at 
last he consented. This "widow's mite" was his 
salvation, for he was able to close the transaction and 
was in funds. Tho he was able in a few days to repay 
her, he regarded always his obligation to her as the 
foundation of his success, and from thence until the 
day of her death he sent her twenty dollars a month 
— to her abundant. 

On another occasion he handed us fifty dollars and 
asked us to purchase a money order and to send it to 
some little place in the Cumberland Mountains, Tennes- 
see, saying, "This is to pay the burial expenses of 
an old friend whose death I heard of the other 
day." Many times, when he has been busy, we have 
carried out for him such charities. Except for our 
close relations with him, we would never have been 
able to discover these fine acts of charity, which he 
kept from all. He truly has kept from his left hand 
what his right hand did. 

Bullock is a resourceful man, and outside of techni- 
cal matters rarely asks for advice. In business mat- 
ters he is reticent but not secretive. This is because 
he is certain of his judgment. He has neither sus- 
picion nor cunning. On the contrary, when he chooses 
to disclose his plans, he is open as the day. His ex- 
perience of a busy life has seasoned him, and tho he 
lias passed the half century post, he is fibered with a 



A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 473 

sturdy mental strength, but is not of robust physical 
frame. His strength is vital force which bears con- 
tinuous heavy strains. The year following the dis- 
aster of 1906 was a severe one for everybody, and 
those who had, before the fire, launched new ventures 
requiring large sums of money, were for months peril- 
ously near the verge of financial ruin. Bullock was 
among those, for he was always loaded to the guards 
with such ventures. In the trying hours when coin 
was a curiosity and money was represented only by 
certificates issued by the consolidated banks, he rolled 
up his sleeves, shut his jaws together tight, and fought 
the peril to a finish, and tho it took off some of the 
flesh from his ribs, paled his cheeks a little and added 
a little white to the color of his hair, he won out He 
is a brilliant example of what an indomitable will can 
do in emergencies when it is harnessed up with a 
skilled judgment. 

In social life Bullock is delightful, his humor in- 
fectious, his talk restful, even his silence magnetic 
with a subtle comaraderie. He is a royal host, knows 
how to minister to separate individual tastes, and 
spends his money for the pleasure of his guests like 
a lord. His tastes are simple, tho in his home life he 
is fond of the elegancies. He loves the music which 
appeals to the heart, and when free from duty will sit 
for hours listening like a pleased child to simple melo- 
dies. As an example of what a poor boy may become 
and do, with an honest heart and an heroic will, in 
the "Wild West," Tom Bullock stands out in fine 
relief. 

His friendship to any man is a joyous possession, 



474 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST 

first, because it Is evidence to the friend that he is 
worthy of a good man's esteem, for Bullock is a 
sagacious, unerring measurer of human qualities ; and 
secondly, because his friendship is a steady force — 
something to tie to and abide in. We have seen 
much of these friendships, some of which were cut ofif, 
but were not ended, at the grave. We say not ended, 
for death had no power to lay its hand upon memories 
that seemed precious to him, and he often speaks of 
the virtues of dead friends. We know of cases of 
these friendships that were carried over after death 
and found expression in benefactions to children and 
widows. This quality, perhaps more than any other, 
expresses and exposes the real value and sweetness 
of the man, for the best of us are too often willing 
to forget at the edge of the grave, and to let slip into 
oblivion memories which if preserved would make 
richer our own lives. 



THE END. 



DEC 15 19tO 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



017 167 200 4 ^ 




